


Fortunate Voyager

by Mara



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the X-Men unexpectedly appear on the Enterprise NX-01, both sides are in for culture shock and a rough ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the middle of season 3 of Enterprise and several months after the events of X2. This story is an AU for the remainder of Enterprise's S3.
> 
> This fic has been a long time coming and there are a great many people to blame...I mean thank. ::deep breath:: Unanon put up a crossover challenge, which made me write an X-Men/Ent drabble. Then Medie and Unanon said squee (multiple times) and Minisinoo fed the bunny a bag of industrial strength plot bunny chow. Daria, Ozchick, and especially Stexgirl provided helpful comments on a partial draft, and Kathy Rose gave me Enterprise episode help. The final beta was by Stexgirl, Akire, and Illmantrim. This fic would be much less coherent without all of their assistance. Lastly, I've stolen a few names from the Treksoap RPG. Just because.

"...the best that we find in our travels is an honest friend. He is a fortunate voyager who finds many. We travel, indeed, to find them. They are the end and the reward of life." -- Robert Louis Stevenson, from Travels with a Donkey in the Cevenne

Doubled over in pain, as exhausted as if he'd run a marathon, it took Scott several long moments to focus on his surroundings. His head was ringing and throbbing, but there were voices. He couldn't remember exactly why, but he knew he had to focus.

"Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?" someone behind him asked.

Another voice, someone standing right in front of him, was yelling "Security to the bridge" in an educated British accent.

Logan, trying to sound conciliatory. "I don't know how we got here. Where are we? Who the hell are you?"

Scott checked his glasses were on his face and undamaged. It seemed safe to open his eyes, so he did, but that didn't help his confusion. Instead of the suburban park he remembered, he was in some kind of monochromatic control center, standing a step below a bank of machinery. A uniformed man, his chiseled features tightened into a scowl, leaned over the machinery to point a weapon at him.

"Don't move," said the man with a British accent, the weapon unwavering in a hand that didn't look likely to miss at this distance.

"We won't," Scott said. "X-Men, stand down."

"Cyke--"

"I said, stand down!"

Behind him, Scott heard the distinctive sound of Logan's claws retracting and the man in front of him looked shocked, his eyes widening for a moment.

Vision clearing further, Scott risked a glance around. What kind of uniforms were these people wearing? He didn't want to be in another military facility. To his left was some kind of giant television screen and to the right, banks of equipment along the walls.

"Who are you?" the voice behind him repeated.

"Answer the captain," the man in front of him said.

"Can I turn around?" Scott asked.

"Yes," the voice behind him said, sounding amused.

Slowly turning, Scott saw the shocked faces of various uniformed people and his own team: Logan just behind him standing next to a black man sitting at a console, Kitty and Bobby behind Logan, beyond them an Asian woman seated in the far corner.

Near the rear of the room there was a blond man with another weapon, aimed at Kitty and Bobby, and a man who walked toward him, standing in front of a seat in the center of the room--obviously the captain. Scott sighed with relief at seeing the students: Kitty and Bobby looked frightened but uninjured.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and in the same blue uniform as the others, the captain had a look of good humor, even in this tense situation. He was no Stryker, Scott decided, relaxing a fraction.

"I'm Captain Jonathan Archer of the Enterprise," the captain said, sitting down in his chair, fingers tapping on the chair's arm his only sign of impatience or tension. "And you are?"

Scott paused. "I'm not quite sure how to answer. Can I ask if we're on a submarine? Is this a Navy ship?"

Archer exchanged a look with the blond man, who'd come to stand next to him. "Submarine?" he asked. "Are you trying to say you don't know you're in space?"

Logan stiffened and stared around him, and Kitty and Bobby gasped. Scott's jaw dropped and he found himself at a loss for words. The television screen...he risked a glance behind him and found the screen was filled with tiny dots. Stars. He turned back, unable to form a coherent response.

Archer's mouth twitched in a slight smile. "I take it that's a yes." He sobered again. "But that's irrelevant. You still haven't told me who you are or how you got here. And my armory officer is itching to shoot you for appearing and scaring us like that."

"Captain!"

Archer went on. "Enterprise isn't near any planets and we haven't seen a sign of any other ships in days, so I'm curious where you came from, especially without realizing you were in space."

Scott cleared his throat, choosing his words carefully. Starting out with 'Hi, we're the X-Men and we're dangerous mutants, please arrest us,' might not be for the best.

"My name is Scott Summers. I'm a teacher at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters and I have absolutely no idea how we got here. The last thing I remember," he paused, "we were meeting with a prospective student and someone attacked us." He frowned. "I think."

Logan started to say something, but was interrupted by a whooshing sound, which heralded an opening door behind Archer, allowing two men and a woman in the same uniforms and carrying guns to run into the room. They fanned out, looking deadly serious, and aimed their weapons at the X-Men. The blond-haired man shrugged and lowered his weapon.

Archer glanced at the new arrivals. "Everything is under control at the moment." When none of them showed any signs of relaxing, he turned back to Scott, seemingly content to wait all day for an explanation.

Scott sighed, considering the fact that everyone in the room had seen Logan's claws. "Look, I'm sure it's no shock to you that we're mutants, but we aren't here to attack you." He braced himself for the inevitable uproar.

Archer's brow wrinkled. "Mutants? I'm not following you."

Scott spoke before Logan could say something stupid. "Mutants. The ones Senator Kelly was trying to register? Mutants."

More confusion on all the unfamiliar faces. "Senator Kelly? Should we know who that is?" the blond man asked, his accent as warm and comfortingly southern as Rogue's.

Archer shook his head. "I don't understand."

Scott stared at his team for a moment, then looked around him at people who had no idea who Senator Kelly was. Outer space. An unfamiliar ship configuration. Voice cracking, he asked, "What year is it?"

Archer considered him for a long moment. "2153," he said finally.

Logan summed the situation up with his usual flair: "Well, fuck."

* * *

It took some time to quiet the room, but Archer managed it, pinning Scott with a stare. "What year do you think it is?"

"Let's just say the number two at the beginning is only a few years old for us."

The blond man grinned suddenly. "Geez, I can't wait to hear what T'Pol has to say about this."

"Trip..." Archer said.

"Yes, Cap'n." Trip didn't look abashed or all that frightened and Scott tried to decide if he was accustomed to people appearing on the ship or didn't see any danger in them.

Archer's eyes narrowed. "Wait, early 21st century?"

"Yes."

There was a strangled noise from behind him and the captain looked over Scott's shoulder. "Lieutenant?"

"Mutations, sir? From that time?"

Scott tensed. Just when things were going so well. He glanced over his shoulder. The lieutenant had gone from looking pissed to looking downright hostile, which was definitely not a good sign. He turned back around.

"I was getting to that, Malcolm." Archer looked at Scott, mouth tight now. "Are you followers of Khan Noonien Singh?"

The hairs on his arms stood up at the sudden increase in tension, and he knew this was a momentous question. But...

"Who?" he asked.

Everyone stared at him. "You really mean that," Archer said, eyes wide.

It wasn't a question, but Scott answered anyway. "I do. We don't follow him because we have no idea who he is. Or was."

"How can you not know Khan?" Trip asked.

"How can you not know Senator Kelly? Are you sure you haven't heard of the Mutant Registration Act? Magneto?" More blank stares and Scott's head throbbed harder. "You have to know who he is. He was already making the history textbooks this fall."

Archer shook his head. "I'm not especially expert in the Eugenics War period."

"Eugenics War?" Kitty flushed when everyone looked at her, but stood her ground. "I'm sorry. I just..."

"What were you going to say?" Archer asked. Scott mentally thanked him for the gentle tone.

"Well," Her face was still red, but embarrassment was fading back to fear, and she looked to Scott for reassurance. When he nodded, she went on in a tiny voice. "Does...does that mean all the mutants are dead? Did you kill everybody?"

Trip looked away. "I'm sorry, kid. It's...it was complicated."

"Wait." Archer shook his head. "This doesn't make sense. The war took place in the 1990s, so you'd have to know who Khan was. He set off nuclear weapons, tried to destroy the planet. Either you're lying--"

"Or it's some alternate universe," the black man standing next to Logan said suddenly.

"What?" Almost everyone asked the question, but the man responded to Archer.

"Well, sir, there have always been theories of alternate universes, time as a branching tree. Perhaps we're in a future where things turned out differently."

"It would explain things," Archer said. "An intriguing suggestion, Travis."

"If they're telling the truth," the lieutenant from security said behind them. Scott could sympathize with the anguish of a security officer who saw security going to hell in a handbasket, but he'd like to be believed.

Archer sighed, looking over the X-Men. Scott tried to look harmless, which was easier than normal, because he felt like a wet dishrag. Whatever had happened to them, he was worn out. Hopefully the kids didn't feel this bad.

Archer's eyes rested on Logan, and Scott groaned internally. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Logan shifting uneasily, hands flexing.

Archer looked at the so-far silent Asian woman in the corner. "Hoshi, get T'Pol up here as soon as possible and see if you can get Admiral Forrest on the line. Meanwhile," he looked at the security guards, "take them to the brig." Looking back at Scott, he said, "You won't be harmed, but you understand I can't have you wandering around my ship until I know what's going on."

Nodding, Scott could only agree with the caution. "I understand. But let me assure you we mean you no harm and we came here accidentally."

Scott caught Logan's eyes, willing the man to stay calm. Weapons still pointed at him, he moved slowly forward, putting a hand on Bobby's shoulder and squeezing. Kitty was starting to look scared, so Scott patted her back. "C'mon, Kitty. Have you ever been in a brig before? The Professor has been saying we need to broaden the students' horizons."

Kitty giggled, as did Hoshi behind her. Hand still on Kitty's back, Scott followed the security guards.

* * *

Since the elevator wasn't big enough for all of them and security, Kitty and Scott went down first. The brig wasn't very large either, so Scott let her sit on the bunk, while he propped himself against the wall. His legs were starting to shake, but he stared fixedly through the mesh wall at the door until Logan and Bobby were led through.

When the door shut behind the rest of his team, Scott took a deep breath and tried to push away from the wall. To his surprise, his legs gave out and he missed hitting the floor only because Logan caught him. "Shit, Cyke, what's wrong?"

Trembling, Scott managed to push Logan away and stagger to the bunk, sitting next to Kitty. He looked at the others. "The trip didn't affect any of you this way?"

They shook their heads. "No," Bobby said. "I got a little dizzy, but that went away almost immediately."

"Mr. Summers, are we really in an alternate future?" Kitty had her arms wrapped around her stomach.

"I think so."

"If it's a trick," Logan said, "it's damn good. This place, it smells different, it sounds wrong, there's this humming that's driving me crazy. It's like a motorcycle engine in the back of my head. It doesn't sound like any plane or boat I've been on."

Scott really looked at Logan for the first time since they'd arrived, noting the tension in his muscles and the way his eyes were constantly shifting. Damn it, he thought, I never considered what a shock this might be to someone with enhanced senses.

"I don't think it's a trick," he said aloud. "What else can you tell me?"

Frowning, Logan considered the question. "They've got a lot of guns, but most don't seem particularly aggressive. Except for during the confusion about that Khan guy. Nobody reacted when you said mutants, but when they thought we were with Khan, they were frightened."

"Huh." Scott blinked, trying to marshal fuzzy thoughts. "For the moment, let's try not to volunteer any...excess information about how gifted we are, hmm?" He wished for a telepath, so he wouldn't have to be so elliptical.

Kitty and Bobby nodded and he had to be content with that. Logan started to pace back and forth, which made Scott dizzy, so he closed his eyes.

Scott sighed, wondering what the guards would do if they knew Bobby could cause many common materials to freeze and crack, Scott's eyes could blast a hole through most things, Logan's claws could cut through almost anything...and if all else failed, Kitty could walk them through anything else. The only thing keeping them in this place was his desire to do things the easy way. Just once.

* * *

Jon stood in the command center, staring at a display from the Xindi database without really seeing it, as the bridge crew trickled in. T'Pol was first, possibly annoyed at missing the grand arrival. At least that's what he thought it meant when he got "Captain" as a greeting from his first officer and she headed straight for a console to bring up all the data they had.

Hoshi and Travis came in together, both ensigns still looking startled by the whole thing. "Captain," Hoshi said, "I've left Baird trying to track down Admiral Forrest, but the signal is very weak. I'm not certain your initial report even made it through intact."

"Great." He shook his head in annoyance. Just when he wanted Starfleet's input, they were out of reach.

Trip strode in and went to look over T'Pol's shoulder. He glanced at Jon. "Oh, Phlox is fixing up Foster, who managed to hurt himself in the gym when an anomaly buckled the floor under him."

"We'll get started when Malcolm gets here, then."

Right on cue, the door opened and Malcolm stalked in, lips tight. "I've got the brig under constant surveillance, sir, but I'd like to get back as soon as possible. If they can appear and disappear, who knows what they might do."

"What do you think of their story?" Jon asked, avoiding Malcolm's eye. T'Pol opened her mouth, but he beat her to it. "Don't say it."

"Say what, Captain?" She asked with her best bland Vulcan stare.

"About the Vulcan Science Directorate and time travel."

"In fact, I was about to say that the Vulcan Science Directorate has never proven the existence of other dimensions or alternate realities and thus--"

"Thank you, Sub-commander, I think we get the idea." Jon stared at her, trying to decide if she was amused or annoyed, but gave it up as a hopeless job.

"I find it all highly improbable," Malcolm said. "It concerns me that we have no way to check their story. If they're from a different reality, we can't check Earth records."

Frowning, Jon leaned against the console. "That's true."

"They brought kids, Cap'n," Trip threw in. "How many assault teams include scared teenagers?"

Malcolm looked unconvinced. "One of them had claws in his hands, like the Suliban enhancements. Perhaps they only look like frightened adolescents?"

Trip threw his hands in the air. "What? You think they're midget Xindi soldiers with really good plastic surgery?"

"We don't know, Commander. We've been fooled before."

"I think they're telling the truth, Captain." Travis looked a little nervous to interrupt the senior officers squabbling, but the pilot was firm.

"I do too, sir," Hoshi added. "Their body language says they're confused and worried, not belligerent. Besides, if they wanted to attack us, why didn't they just do it?"

Jon tapped his fingers on the console. "They might be spies, not troops."

"So now they're midget Xindi spies?" Trip rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't know if they're telling the truth, but if they're trying to spy, that was the most inept approach I've ever seen."

T'Pol spoke up. "I believe the proper course of action would be to have Dr. Phlox examine them. He can certainly determine if they are human."

"Thank you, that's the most sensible thing anyone has said. Malcolm, arrange for Phlox to take a look at them."

"Yes, sir."

"T'Pol, you and Trip take a look at the readings from their arrival. See if you can pinpoint how they got here. We'll meet again when we have data, not speculation."

Everyone scattered, leaving Jon staring at the display, thoughts in a whirl.

What was going on? Was this some new attack from the Xindi? Or yet another salvo in the damn Temporal Cold War that seemed mainly to be dedicated to driving him insane?

Good lord, what could possibly be the benefit in taking four people from an alternate past (if they could be believed) and dumping them on the ship? Other than distracting Enterprise from its mission to save the Earth, of course.

Where the hell was Daniels when he needed him? Jon thought, wishing the former steward--and time traveler--would show up. Even one of his typically confusing explanations would be welcome at this moment.

Of course, things would be greatly simplified if the intruders were lying. Malcolm was right, they'd certainly been fooled before. He thought with a pang of embarrassment and sadness of Raijin, her beauty and duplicity. And they'd also been attacked plenty of times. Jon remembered the pirate they'd captured months before, his boiling rage at the alien. How he'd come close to suffocating him in an airlock.

Jon shivered. Maybe things wouldn't be simpler if they were lying.

* * *

When the door to the brig shussed open, Scott's eyes were still shut, as he attempted to still the trembling that seemed to be getting worse.

A moment later, gasps from Kitty and Bobby and the sound of Logan moving got his attention and he opened his eyes. The face peering through the mesh of the prison was nightmarish and wrong, the skin color no shade he'd ever seen on a human, pulled in all the wrong directions.

Scott fought an instinctive desire to climb up on the bunk and pull his knees to his chest. This person had to be a mutant or a shapeshifter like Mystique. But then why didn't they know what mutants were, except in reference to this mysterious Eugenics War?

"Hello," the apparition said, "my name is Dr. Phlox, the chief medical officer of this vessel. Lieutenant Reed says you claim to be from the past, so I assume you have never seen a Denobulan before."

"A what?" Bobby asked.

"A Denobulan. From the planet Denobula."

"The planet..." Kitty sounded like she'd stopped breathing. "You mean you're..."

"Not human? Quite correct, young lady." He beamed at her, a smile so big it looked as if his face should split open. "Now, the captain has asked me to examine you to see if we can verify what you said." Turning to the security guard behind him, he gestured at the door. "Please let me in. I certainly can't do anything from out here."

The guard frowned, but unlocked the door, eyeing them suspiciously the entire time.

The Denobulan, Phlox, seemed to understand their unease and he moved slowly, stopping just inside the door so it could be locked behind him.

Logan's nose twitched and he growled once, low in his chest, stepping between the alien and the students. Scott thought about intervening, but decided to let it play out. If Logan's instincts said there was trouble, he wanted to know why.

Phlox stood still. "I will not harm you. I would like to run some scans and draw blood to test your DNA."

Fascinated, Kitty and Bobby peered around Logan. "Not the kids," Logan said, voice low. "No tests."

Phlox leaned his head to one side. "I will need to scan them, but we can skip the blood for the moment. May I ask what is wrong?"

"You smell wrong," Logan said, not taking his eyes off him.

Ah, Scott thought, that made sense. "It's okay, Logan, he told us he's an alien."

"But--"

"We're going to have to trust them if we want to get out of this. We're in space. Were you planning to fly us back to Earth?" It took all his strength to get the last sentence out, the trembling grown worse, almost palsy now.

"Mr. Summers?" Kitty's voice was higher than normal, and he managed to drag his head around to look at her, but the effort made his head swim.

"Cyke?"

Everything was grayer than it was supposed to be, and his vision narrowed into a tunnel. Scott tried to say something, but couldn't find the words or make his mouth form the right shapes. It was curiously like drowning, struggling to breathe or move.

"Don't touch him!" Logan's growl was now a roar, cutting through the fog.

"This man needs medical attention!" The doctor's good humor had given way to anger of his own. "You must allow me to examine him."

"Did you do something to him?"

Scott could feel he was lying on the bunk, but couldn't control his body as it shook.

"How could I?"

"Logan, Mr. Summers was feeling bad already, remember?"

Good, Bobby, very good.

"Okay. Help him. Just don't touch the glasses unless you want a hole in your ship."

Cool hands held Scott in place, the voice of the alien doctor shouted for assistance. It was too much effort to keep concentrating and Scott let go, sinking into the fog.


	2. Secrets, History, and New Friends

Jon slammed through the door to sickbay, but skidded to a halt when he nearly ran down an orderly carrying a piece of equipment. For a moment, sickbay looked like the middle of a full-scale war, but after a few moments, he realized it was only Phlox, several assistants, and what seemed like half of security.

Summers lay on the biobed outside the main scanner and Phlox frowned at the readings above the bed as if they'd personally insulted his professional expertise.

"This man is unconscious," Phlox shouted as a guard bumped into him. "I hardly believe he is in any condition to attack me."

"Lieutenant Reed said--"

"You are in my way," Phlox said. "I cannot properly treat my patient with all of you hovering."

Jon decided it was time to intervene. "It's okay. Do as the doctor says."

"Yes, sir." The security guards all stepped out of the way, allowing various orderlies to swoop in.

Phlox didn't even acknowledge the captain, muttering furiously to Liz Cutler, who ran to the nearest console and started tapping away. Jon wanted to ask questions, but contented himself with studying the man on the biobed from the safe vantage point of the doorway.

Honestly, Summers looked terrible. He was so still, Jon might have thought he was dead if Phlox wasn't still working, and his face was pale and drawn. In fact, he looked underfed in general. Jon frowned. Why did he still have those red sunglasses on?

Phlox whirled around. "I need to talk to one of the other visitors. Find out if one of them knows anything about this man's medical history."

Everyone looked at Jon, who paused for a moment, indecisive. Then he nodded at the nearest guard, Crewman Soong. "Do it. Bring someone here. Fast."

She nodded and dashed out the door. It seemed an interminable wait, with Phlox running tests and looking anxious, but finally the glass door opened and Soong entered with the young woman.

Jon's heart went out to her, with her wide eyes and hands clenched by her side. When she saw Summers lying on the biobed, she gasped and put a hand to her mouth, and the crowd seemed to make her even more nervous.

"Thank you for coming," Jon said quietly, trying not to spook her. "My doctor needs your help to help your friend."

"He's my teacher," she said firmly, looking up at him through a curtain of long brown hair.

"Okay, your teacher. What's your name?"

"Katherine Pryde. But everybody calls me Kitty."

"Nice to meet you, Kitty." Now that she seemed less likely to have hysterics, he glanced at the doctor, who looked ready to explode. "Now let's see if you can tell Dr. Phlox what he needs to know."

"I'll try," she said. "I help Dr. McCoy sometimes."

As soon as she was in range, Phlox started firing questions at her. Fortunately, she seemed to understand what he was asking, which was good, because Jon was lost after she said something about "brain damage." Within moments, the two were huddled over a console and she was pointing to things and talking about "X factors" and "UV conversions". Jon resumed staring at the stranger, hoping he wasn't going to die.

"That's it!" Phlox said. "We need a broad-spectrum UV emitter now."

"A...right." Jon turned and punched the comm button. "Archer to Engineering."

"Go ahead, sir."

* * *

The bright light got Scott's attention first. No, he thought, I refuse to believe in that bright light you're supposed to see when you're dying. Anything but that.

"Mr. Summers?" a voice called. "Please open your eyes."

Open my eyes? he wondered. What if I don't want to see the tunnel?

"Maybe if you stopped shining the light in his face," another voice responded.

Kitty? Maybe he wasn't dead after all.

The light dimmed and Scott experimented with his eyelids, finding--to his great surprise--that they opened. He blinked a few times, pleased with this sign of progress.

"He's moving!" Kitty said.

"Mr. Summers," the same unidentified voice said again, "how are you?"

"Like death warmed over," he croaked, squinting. Ah, it was the captain talking to him.

"I am not surprised," the doctor said from behind him. Scott craned his neck around and the doctor obligingly moved where he could be seen. "You were in rather grave danger, until Ms. Pryde and I were able to determine the difficulty."

"You ran out of gas," Kitty said.

"Ah."

Scott nodded sagely until Kitty recognized his sarcasm. "Dr. McCoy explained to me once that you convert sunlight into energy and if you went without sunlight, it might make you sick."

"Very sick, actually," Scott said. "Hank and I tested it once and it wasn't pleasant. I'm surprised I didn't recognize the feeling."

"Well, you were probably busy," Archer said, with an engaging half grin which Scott couldn't help but return.

"I suppose so. But in our test, it took me almost a week to get sick. What would be different here?"

Phlox made an odd sound. "I suspect you used the energy you had stored when you removed yourself and your companions to this ship."

"How the...how did I do that?" Scott stared at the doctor, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Bad enough he had the capacity to accidentally blow a hole through a mountain, but now he needed to worry about hopping through the multiverse if he wasn't paying attention?

"We are not entirely certain. Sub-commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker were arguing about that when I last saw them."

"Great." A deep breath. "Is there any chance of my accidentally moving anyone right now?"

"We do not think so. It seems to have used up a great deal of your resources, which are not yet recharged. And from what Ms. Pryde describes, you were under attack at the time. Perhaps that condition might be required."

"Right." Scott resisted the urge to groan, put the whole question aside to be dealt with later, and turned to Kitty. "Are Logan and Bobby okay?"

She smiled. "Other than worrying about you, I think so. I went down a few minutes ago to let them know you were okay. Logan growled."

"We'll leave you to recover," the captain said, "although I'm afraid the guards will have to remain over there."

Scott nodded. "I understand. And thank you for saving my life."

When the captain and doctor had moved away, Kitty looked worried. "I'm sorry. I had to tell him about your powers and some of the stuff about mutants. He needed to know."

"Don't be too sorry. You did save my life, after all."

She shuffled her feet. "Well, Ms. Grey wouldn't..." She gasped and looked away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"It's okay," he said, throat tight. "You can mention Jean."

Kitty's eyes filled with tears and Scott struggled to sit up. "I'm okay. Really." He put his arms around her and she began to cry, huge tears rolling down her cheeks.

Scott fought back his own tears, hating his weakness, the desire to go fetal and let the universe sort itself out. But duty called as it always did. And he would be strong for Bobby and Kitty, because now they'd seen him break down twice. Today and the day that Jean had died. That was two too many times.

Jon nodded to Phlox. "In your office?"

"Certainly, Captain."

* * *

Within moments, they were seated with the door closed. "I take it you haven't had a chance to complete your study."

"Complete it, no. But I believe the data from Mr. Summers and Ms. Pryde should be sufficient for a preliminary report. I can assure you our visitors are human...with some variations."

"Variations? Are they genetically engineered? Are they Khan's superhumans?"

"I do not see any evidence of deliberate genetic manipulation, Captain. As strange as they seem, these changes appear to have occurred naturally."

Jon leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about the changes."

"Apparently, Mr. Summers' body converts several parts of the ultraviolet spectrum, those found in light from Earth's sun, into a physical beam that shoots out of his eyes. Thus, the sunglasses, which restrain the beams."

"You're kidding."

"No, I most certainly am not." Phlox pursed his lips. "The changes to the human genome are fascinating, and nothing like this has ever been reported. Not in our timeline, at least."

Jon swore quietly to himself and took a deep breath. "Malcolm's not going to believe it. Let's go talk to them."

* * *

Jon leaned in the doorway, instincts at war, and watched Summers comfort Kitty. Enterprise was all alone in the Expanse, surrounded by deadly enemies, and practicality told him not to trust strange people who appeared out of nowhere and could potentially shoot energy out of their eyes. But Jon's heart went out to the young man who'd nearly died a short while ago and now was trying to calm a frightened young woman.

When Phlox stepped up behind him, Jon took a few steps closer and saw Summers stiffen and then relax. "Captain. Doctor."

Kitty swallowed her tears and stepped away. "Hi."

"Sorry to interrupt, but I think we need to talk. Perhaps Kitty would like to be introduced to some of Dr. Phlox's menagerie."

Summers nodded once and Phlox smiled at Kitty, leading her away as he chattered about Pyrithian bats and Andorian snails. Tilting his head to one side, Summers waited for him to speak.

It was disconcerting, Jon thought, trying to judge a man wearing red sunglasses. They seemed to cover more than just his eyes. Not to mention that the man did a better blank face than Malcolm. He might as well be made of stone, with those sharp edges.

"I don't know what to do with you," Jon said. "You're a living, dangerous weapon and your friend has claws. Phlox says your mutation seems to be natural."

"Logan's claws aren't natural, but if I'd done this to my eyes on purpose, I'd be able to control it," Summers said, sounding tired. "I would be able to take off my glasses."

"Hmm." Jon sighed, considering his (limited) options.

"I think it might be time for full disclosure about what we can do. It'll either help you trust us or..."

"Or?"

"You'll try to kill us."

Jon shook his head, not sure what he was disagreeing with.

Summers looked around to find Kitty. "Kitty, could you come here?" She started to walk around a biobed. "The short way, please."

Without slowing, she walked through the bed.

Jon felt his jaw drop and Phlox's eyes gleamed as he grabbed a medical tricorder. Kitty looked puzzled. "But I thought--"

"I changed my mind. Thank you for the demonstration."

"Sure. Do you need me to phase through anything else?"

Summers waved at Phlox. "I think he'd like a few demonstrations. It's okay, go on."

Light-headed, Jon watched Kitty put her hand through various solid objects. "I've got to be careful," she said. "I short out electronics if I phase through them."

"Fascinating!"

Summers was solemn when Jon turned back, waiting for a reaction.

"What else can you people do?"

"The military coated Logan's bones with the hardest metal known, adamantium, and he naturally has enhanced senses as well as the ability to heal from injuries incredibly fast. The claws can cut through nearly anything. They're also a present from the military."

The last sentence contained more venom and bitterness than Jon had heard from Summers since his precipitous arrival. He wondered what it was for. "What about the young man?"

"Bobby draws heat out of the air, although we haven't figured out how. But it lets him create, shape, and control ice. He can chill things to an incredibly low temperature."

"Wow."

"If we'd wanted to fight you...we'd have done a great deal of damage. We might even have won."

"I can see that." Jon's mind reeled. "But you didn't."

"No."

"I'm not sure you've made this any easier. I can't really put you back in the brig when she can walk right out of it." Jon started to pace across sickbay, hoping movement would jog his brain. Passing the comm panel, he tapped it. "Archer to T'Pol."

"Go ahead, Captain."

"I need you and Trip in sickbay. And get Malcolm. Oh, have him get someone to bring the other two up from the brig."

"Understood."

Summers was as still as a statue, jaw tense, waiting.

Jon glared at him, angered at the resignation, the implication that Summers knew how he would react. "Damn it, I'm not going to kill you!"

Kitty and Phlox looked up.

"It's okay, Kitty," Summers said, not turning his head, watching Jon.

The tension built until it was nearly a palpable presence. What were these people capable of, why were they here, were they telling the truth?

A whoosh and the door to sickbay opened and Jon finally turned to look. Malcolm had a hand on his phase pistol as he entered, scanning the room for danger. His eyes widened and his fingers closed on the weapon, so Jon turned to see what he was looking at.

Kitty stood with her hand inside a biobed, watching the new arrivals.

"Cap'n, what the--" Trip and T'Pol stood just inside sickbay, the door closing behind them.

"New developments, Trip."

Kitty looked down at her hand, pulled it out of the table and sidled over next to Scott.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Have you made any progress?"

"Well, we've matched up some of the particles with the ones off that derelict and the cyborg ship on Earth. So, that's good evidence for time travel." Trip grinned at T'Pol, who ignored him.

"What particles?" Summers asked.

"The ones you were leaking like a bucket full of holes. A couple of bridge sensors nearly blew out when you arrived, but it's pretty certain you were the source."

"I believe this eliminates an outside actor such as a transporter," T'Pol said.

The door opened and Trip and T'Pol stepped out of the way to allow Logan and Bobby to enter, followed by two of the MACOs. Logan's eyes flicked briefly to Scott and Kitty, then swept the room. Jon wondered what branch of the military he'd been in, because only someone who'd seen some kind of combat reacted like that.

Bobby looked at everyone and went to stand next to Kitty, who smiled reassuringly at him. Jon was struck by the resilience of youth, moving from tears to helping a classmate in a few minutes. Logan prowled over to stand off to one side, eying Malcolm and his phase pistol.

"Well," Jon said, clearing his throat, "I thought it was time to lay everything on the table. Phlox says our visitors don't seem to have deliberate genetic manipulations. They've shown me they had the capacity to do a great deal of damage--not to mention leave the brig--none of which they chose to do."

"If we wanted you dead, you would be," Logan said, voice very cold and brittle. Jon shivered, aware in a way he hadn't been before, that this man was a killer.

"Logan." The one word from Summers seemed to be enough, although they took a moment to glare at each other. But Logan subsided, not responding--except to roll his head until his neck cracked.

That moment should have frightened Jon, should have made him say, 'Sedate them and put them back in the brig.' But it didn't. It was something about the way Bobby was trying to look brave and Kitty had her hands clenched by her side. And something about the way a killer with claws took orders from a young man with dark sunglasses. That young man--his instincts said--could be trusted.

"Until we figure out how to return you to your proper time and place, I'm releasing you from the brig."

"Captain!" Malcolm's voice was anguished.

T'Pol didn't move except for a slight quirk of the lips. "Are you certain that is wise?"

"Not at all. But I'm taking a chance." Malcolm opened his mouth, but Jon shook his head and the armory officer subsided. "Yes, they'll be restricted to nonessential portions of the ship."

"Thank you, sir." The tone was truculent, but Jon chose to ignore that.

"Thank you, Captain," Summers said. It was still impossible to tell what he was thinking, Jon thought with no little annoyance.

"Let's just hope we can find a way to get you home or I'm going to have to explain your continued presence to Starfleet. And I'd rather not do that."

Phlox broke in. "Now that we have these preliminaries complete, I believe my patient needs to eat."

Jon nodded. "Mr. Summers, if you'd care to join me for dinner in my private mess? I think we have some things to discuss."

A calm nod. "Thank you, Captain."

"Malcolm, please escort the other three to the mess hall so they can get something to eat as well." The armory officer, still scowling, led them out. "T'Pol? Trip?"

"I would like to resume my investigations, Captain."

"Have fun, T'Pol, I need something to eat. I'll join ya, Captain."

* * *

The atmosphere in the captain's private dining hall was much more relaxed once food had been consumed. Summers had spent every spare moment staring out at the stars, which made Jon like him even more. They made it through the salad and chicken and apple pie on innocuous conversation.

"So, tell me about mutants," Jon said, leaning back in his seat, sipping coffee.

Summers looked up from his cup. "As near as we can tell, mutants with fantastic powers began to appear in limited numbers in the 1950s, perhaps caused by experiments with radioactivity. By the end of the century, our numbers were great enough to make people nervous." It sounded like a speech he'd made many times, perhaps a museum tour.

"Some, like my mentor Charles Xavier, believe humans and mutants should be able to live together. Others, like Magneto, see war between humans and mutants as inevitable. He intends to be on the winning side, no matter what."

Jon sighed. "Sounds familiar. What about this Senator Kelly you mentioned when you arrived?"

Summers twirled his coffee cup, his jaw twitching once before he answered. "He sponsored the Mutant Registration Act. All mutants would have been required to register with the government. It was a 'license to lynch mutants' law."

"Damn," Trip said.

"It's been difficult riding in the center of the road, trying to keep mutants under control as well as the humans trying to kill us. There have been...losses, mistakes."

He stopped abruptly, jaw clenched and hand nearly white on the cup. The pain was so obvious, Jon almost called Phlox before he realized his pain was mental, not physical. He and Trip looked away and waited for him to regain control.

"That's our history in a nutshell," Summers said eventually. "Now, who is Khan?"

"Well, around the same time your mutants were appearing spontaneously," Jon said, "people on Earth, our Earth, were trying to create supermen--stronger, faster, smarter. Then the supermen grew up. It started as isolated terrorist activities, but it was really Khan gaining power.

"Near the end of the century, he and his supermen came out of the closet and began their work in earnest--threats, near-destruction of the Earth, it was a terrible time. It left us with strict laws against genetic manipulation."

Summers shook his head slowly. "Khan probably spouted a lot of garbage about how his people were the next step in evolution and survival of the fittest, right?"

Trip snorted. "That's about right."

"Sounds like Khan and Magneto would have loved each other."

"Please, don't even think about that," Jon said, trying to lighten the mood. "For all we know, you can wish them into the same universe."

"You never know." Summers stared out at the stars, looking uncomfortable. "Did Khan suffer any particular persecution?"

"Not that I know of, why?"

"Magneto...Erik was a Jewish survivor of World War II, of the Holocaust. He saw his parents dragged away to be killed."

"Oh."

"Mm-hmm. He sees the treatment of mutants and the calls for registration as signs that mutants are going to be rounded up in concentration camps to be murdered."

Jon studied Summers, intrigued. "You're afraid he's right."

"Yes." It was little more than a whisper.

Jon and Trip waited.

Rubbing his temple under the glasses, Summers went on. "A few months ago, the school, our school for mutant children, was attacked by the US military and some of the students were kidnapped. Experimented on. I was drugged, brainwashed. I nearly killed...people, before I was stopped."

There was something else, Jon could tell, and it made his stomach roll think there might be something worse than what Summers had already described.

Summers took a few moments to calm down, but eventually he looked up. "But we've moved on, tried to resume our mission of teaching the kids how to control their powers, and monitoring the mutants with less noble goals. It's been difficult." He stopped again.

"What about this Professor Xavier?" Jon asked. "Who is he?"

Summers brightened, an amused smile on his lips. "My mentor and my teacher. He comes from old family money, which let him set up the school."

"Does he have powers too?" Trip asked.

"He's a telepath." Summers sighed. "Extremely powerful."

Trip sat up straight. "A telepath? He reads minds?"

"Yes."

Trip managed to draw back without moving--it was something in the look on his face. "That's...how do you..."

Summers turned toward Trip, obviously wanting him to understand. "The Professor does not read minds uninvited. That's part of why he started the school, so we could develop the ethical aspect of our mutations."

Trip's face twisted. "You can't do that, can you?"

"Trip..."

Summers stayed focused on Trip. "No, I can't. I've told you everything we can do."

Jon sighed. "Trip, cool it." Not for the first time, Jon wished Trip wasn't so excitable. "Telepaths aren't completely unknown here, either."

"Yeah, but I don't want to be near any of them!"

Jon wanted to slam his hands on the table and shout 'You mean, like T'Pol?' but now wasn't the time to deal with another in a long line of Vulcan secrets. "We have enough problems, let's not ask for trouble, okay?"

"Yes, Cap'n." Trip crossed his arms, looking sulky.

Why the hell had becoming a starship captain seemed like a good idea? Jon wanted desperately to roll his eyes, but settled for turning to Summers. "So, he started a school."

"Yes, I was one of his first students." For a moment, a nostalgic smile passed over the man's face, but it went dark. Again, Jon had the feeling something terrible had happened that Summers wasn't ready to share, and Summers shook his head. "We were in the middle of recruiting a new student when we ended up here. We were attacked by members of the mutant opposition and I suppose that must have somehow triggered this new ability of mine. I can only hope the prospective student we left behind was unharmed."

"What was his mutation?"

"Hers, actually. She projected illusions. I don't know what Magneto wants with her."

"What kinds of things do you teach at your school?" Jon asked.

"The normal things, math, science, literature. We also help the students learn about their abilities, how to control them, how to use them." Summers hesitated. "We train a select few in more...martial arts.

"It's not what we would choose, but the Professor and I agree it will become more necessary to have mutants who are willing and able to protect humanity from mutant threats. We call ourselves," a slight smile, "the X-Men."

"For Professor Xavier."

"Yes. So far most of the students have not been allowed to join the team, but Bobby and his girlfriend Rogue are two who have. They proved themselves level-headed in the time after the school was attacked."

"Kitty?"

"She's in training, but not yet on the team. The only reason she was on this mission was that it was supposed to be easy."

Jon laughed, but not out of amusement. "I know about those missions."

"I'm sure you do." Summers crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "I hate putting the kids in harm's way, but there are so few of us and so many who hate mutants. The attacks are getting worse all the time, the legal challenges stronger, our defenders fewer."

"So, why haven't you joined this Magneto, then?" Trip sounded belligerent and Jon shot him a warning look.

Face set and grim, Summers turned the red glasses on him. "Because the proper response to violence is not more violence."

Trip sneered at him. "Well, tell that to the Xindi."

Summers frowned. "Who are the Xindi?"

Jon shook his head. "They're the reason this ship is so far from Earth, but we don't know much about them. We know there are five distinct species of Xindi and they live in this area of space, which is called the Expanse. Less than a year ago, they sent a probe to Earth." He couldn't go on and took refuge in a sip of his coffee.

Summers looked at Trip, whose pleasant expression had gone cold and hard. It wasn't a good look on him, Jon thought.

"The probe..." Summers prompted.

"Killed millions of people," Jon said bluntly. "It wiped out a swathe of Earth."

"God," Summers said. "Why?"

Jon shook his head slowly. "It's complicated. From what we can tell, they believe humans are going to destroy their homeworld."

"But if you've never met these Xindi--"

"It's all got to do with time travel. I hate time travel," Jon said.

"Why would humans do that? Have you asked the Xindi?" Summers was still in shock, Jon thought, remembering how long it had taken him to grasp the enormity of the loss.

"Who cares? They want to wipe us out. That's pretty clear," Trip said.

"But why?" Summers frowned.

Trip snorted. "Obviously, you don't care about the millions who died. It's not your Earth, is it?"

"That's not--"

"My sister died, damn it!" Trip pushed his chair back, exploding out of it, away from the table. Jon stared, surprised to see Trip talking about it. "Those bastards vaporized my baby sister and you want me to talk? You don't have the faintest idea--"

"My fiancée is dead." Summers swallowed hard.

Trip spun around to stare at him, jaw dropping. "What?"

"Jean. My fiancée. She," he swallowed again, "died. In the escape after the school was attacked."

Long silence as the two men pondered each other. Jon held his breath.

Trip was the first to speak. "I'm sorry. For Jean. And for, well, for what I said. It's been tough."

Nodding, Scott waved Trip back to his seat. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister."

"How did Jean die?"

Scott's jaw twitched and when he spoke, it was in a monotone. "A senior US military official created a weapon to kill all the mutants. We stopped him, but Magneto tried to use it to kill the humans instead. We managed to stop that as well, but in the escape our jet was damaged."

Scott fell silent, obviously lost in the memory. "Jean was a telekinetic and a telepath. She stopped the water from a broken dam from drowning us, lifted the jet...and she was gone." His voice was hoarse.

"She...whoa, that's amazing." Trip's eyes were wide. "Lizzie was sweet and kind."

"I'm sure she was."

Jon sighed. "I think we could all use a drink."

The two other men nodded and Jon rang for the steward. "Please tell Chef I'd like to break out bottle number 2."

Trip dropped back into his seat with a sigh, fiddling with his coffee spoon, while Summers stood and, hands in his pockets, went to stare out at the stars. It hurt to watch the two of them, Jon thought, wounded and angry. And if he was honest, they weren't the only ones. His own behavior since they'd entered the Expanse had been schizophrenic, to say the least.

The steward brought in a bottle of Southern Comfort, which got him a brief smile from Trip. Jon waved the steward away and poured each of them a healthy shot.

Trip leaned his arms on the table, watching the liquid in his glass; when Jon brought a glass over, Summers thanked him and took a sip, his mind obviously still far away.

Finally turning away from the view, Summers returned to his seat. "Tell me more about your mission." The pain they'd seen was buttoned-down, hidden from view again.

"We're here to find the Xindi, find the weapon we know they're building to destroy the Earth, and stop them." It sounded impossible when he put it that way.

"Alone?"

Trip snorted. "Our so-called allies, the Vulcans, told us it was our problem. T'Pol told 'em to go to hell, quit her job, and came along."

"Starfleet's working on other ships," Jon said, "but it'll be months before they're launched. We don't know if we can wait that long."

"Sounds tough."

"It's been...difficult," Jon said, grimacing at the massive understatement. "We're working with insufficient information in unfamiliar and dangerous territory. I'm afraid you didn't walk into an easy situation."

"We're used to that," Summers said. "I know Logan and I can handle it, I just wish the kids hadn't come along. I wish I knew what I did to bring us here."

Trip drained his glass and held it out for another splash. "We'll figure it out, promise."

"Thank you." Summers didn't sound all that pleased about depending on someone else.

"So," Trip said, "people don't like mutants much."

Summers snorted. "Considering how you reacted to my mention of telepathy, are you really surprised?"

Trip had the good grace to look abashed at the reminder. "Yeah, you're right."

"Humans seem to have three responses to mutants: apathy, blind hatred, or a desire to control our powers, use them for one purpose or another."

"That's cynical," Trip said.

"That's my life," Summers responded, his voice sharp. "Students come to our school in conditions ranging from bad to worse--beaten by their parents because they grew wings, attacked by mobs because they can move things with their minds, traumatized by rejection because of circumstances beyond their control."

Trip and Jon were silent as Summers stood and went to look out at the stars. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "These kids are my life. Especially since..."

Since Jean's death. The words went unspoken but they hung in the air and Summers leaned his forehead against the clear surface in front of him.

Control them, Jon thought, staring down into the dregs of his drink. What a seductive thought it was. These four mutants were living, intelligent weapons: Kitty, the perfect spy and saboteur; Logan, the ultimate soldier; Bobby, elemental power over water and ice; and Scott, a human-shaped laser.

When he looked up, Summers was watching him. Even with the red glasses, Jon could feel the intensity of that regard, and he suspected Summers knew exactly what he was thinking. "So long as you are on this ship," Jon said, choosing his words with care, "you are under my protection. Nobody will make you do anything you don't wish to. You have my word."

He stared at Summers' glasses, trying to see the eyes behind them, trying to show he meant it. Beside him, Trip shifted, obviously uneasy.

"Thank you, Captain," Summers said finally. "I appreciate that."

Jon nodded. "Well, Phlox will have my head if I keep you up all ship's night talking. Shift's almost over, so we should get you bunked down."

"It's always best to follow doctor's orders." Summers' smile looked exhausted.

"We don't have many extra beds," Jon said, frowning at a padd on the table, "but we've found places for you to sleep as long as you don't mind being separated."

"I'd prefer we were together, mainly for the kids, but I understand."

"If it helps, we've set up the comm system to recognize you and you can contact each other anywhere on the ship. Computer access is restricted, but you should be able to view historical and entertainment features."

Summers nodded. "Thank you. You're being remarkably kind to four intruders."

Jon didn't respond immediately, thinking about how young Summers was. It was easy to forget since he was in charge, but he was so very very young. "We put you in the brig. That's kind?"

A grin flashed across his face for an instant, lighting it. "Everyone puts us in jail. Most don't intend to let us out."

Shaking his head, Jon waved at the door. "Let's gather the troops and get everyone assigned to a room."

* * *

Kitty looked thrilled when informed she'd be bunking with Hoshi Sato, and Scott was happy to see the ship's linguist appeared equally pleased with the arrangement. The two disappeared out the door, words like "ice cream" and "movie" wafting back before the door shut behind them.

One of the marines (MACOs, they called them) claimed Logan, insisting there was a free bunk in their area, and some kind of sparring match was already in the works from what Scott could hear. He shook his head, hoping Logan wouldn't hurt anyone too badly.

A dark-haired crewman named Rostov grinned at Bobby. "You're stuck with me. I'm not as good-looking as Ensign Sato, though."

Bobby blushed. "I've got a girlfriend anyway."

"Really? Okay, you get to tell me about her while we steal some of the ladies' ice cream."

Scott was pleased--it seemed his team was settling in rather nicely. He turned to say as much to the captain, but caught a scowl on Lt. Reed's face. Reed noticed him watching and blanked the scowl to something more neutral. They eyed each other and Scott wondered if he was supposed to fight or roll over and expose his throat.

The moment was broken when the captain grinned at both of them. "Well, now that we've got that settled, I've got to get down to engineering and take a look at those upgrades Trip wants me to see." He was gone rather faster than a human should be able to move.

"But..."

"You'll be staying with me," Reed said, the scowl back.

"Great." Scott scowled himself, realizing the captain had abandoned them for a reason. The most annoying thing was that it was the kind of thing he might have done in a similar circumstance.

"When I expressed my reservations about allowing you free rein of the ship, Captain Archer said that if I was so concerned, I should put you where I could keep an eye on you. He insisted. Ordered, in fact."

"Your captain's sense of humor--"

"Leaves a little to be desired. I know."

"Well, you don't trust me and I don't like you, so I'd say we understand each other."

"True."


	3. Incoming Plot Complications

Although he knew he should probably check on the others first, Scott lay on the bunk Reed showed him, closing his eyes and wishing...wishing for something he couldn't quite articulate. Maybe it was security. Or peace. Or a leggy red-head who drank too much coffee.

He removed his glasses and put on his visor--not the most comfortable thing to sleep in, but less likely to slip off and cause him to put a hole in the ship. Too bad he hadn't been carrying his night goggles along with glasses and visor.

Perhaps the engineers could make something...make something comfortable, so he could sleep. Sleep.

Scott slept.

* * *

When the blaring alarm startled Scott out of restless sleep, his first instinct was to reach for the visor on his nightstand. A flailing hand met nothing but air and his eyes shot open when he realized he was already wearing the visor.

"Jean, what's happ--" Like a kick to the groin, memories hit him, leaving nausea in their wake. No Jean. No school. Outer space.

Reed wasn't there. The alarm obviously meant something serious was happening, but Scott was reluctant to dash out without a better idea what had gone wrong.

He tried the communication system, but it was shut down, and the computer didn't allow him sufficient access, leaving reconnaissance the only option.

Breathing deeply, he hit the button to open the door but nothing happened. Curiouser and curiouser. He could blast through it, he was certain, but that might be fatal to whoever was on the other side, friend or foe.

Had the captain found some reason to distrust him? Were guards on their way? Or was some outside force at work? He cursed the impulse that allowed his team to separate. They should have slept in the brig if necessary. How the hell was he supposed to protect them if he didn't even know where they were?

A sound behind him and he whirled, hand to his visor. Kitty scrambled through the wall, holding onto the comm officer, Ensign Sato, whose eyes were wide. "Mr. Summers!"

"What's going on?"

"The ship's been boarded by Xindi," Sato said, breathing hard. "Captain Archer managed to comm a few of us before the bridge was taken. He, the first officer, and the chief engineer were all there. Lieutenant Reed is somewhere down in the armory, but we got cut off when the intruders took out the comms."

"Can you find Bobby and Logan and get us to the armory? We can't do much good from here."

Sato nodded after a sharp glance at him, but she seemed willing to accept his leadership. "Bobby's no problem since he's probably in Michael's quarters, but Logan's with the MACOs and they could be any number of places."

"Okay, only Bobby then. Logan can take care of himself anyway."

"Then let's go."

"Ready?" He looked and Kitty and she nodded, taking their hands. "Which way?"

Sato thought for a second and pointed.  
With a feeling that he could see the molecular structure of the ship's walls, Scott followed the two women, trying to remember what little he'd seen of the ship's layout and weaponry.

When they dropped through the ceiling into Rostov's quarters, they found Bobby pacing back and forth. His face lit up. "There you are! Michael left for engineering a few minutes ago, then the alarm went off."

"Grab hold," Scott said, and with that they were on their way again.

The sound of energy weapons was incredibly noisy in the confined quarters of the ship--a whine like a million mosquitos and crickets combined with the shouts of the ship's human defenders. With instincts that Scott was pleased to see, Kitty dragged them sideways into a room. The startled occupant looked up from an open panel. "Hoshi?"

Sato grinned. "Hey, Alison. Would you like a lift to the armory?"

Grinning fiercely in return, she jumped up and took Bobby's hand. "Hey, even we engineers can shoot if we have to. I was getting ready to take a chance on the conduits, but I think I like your way better."

They plunged through a dizzying series of walls, corridors, and floors. Scott let his spatial sense map out their path while he kept an eye on Kitty; he was worried she'd tire, but adrenaline kept her bright-eyed and energetic.

Through another gray wall and Sato grinned. "Straight down, but be ready for Malcolm to shoot at us." And they were sinking, dropping to the floor of the armory, where ten weapons were instantly trained on them.

"Freeze," Reed shouted.

"We're here to help," Sato said.

"Them?" He stared.

"Yes, them."

Reed seemed about to refuse, but one of the marines stepped forward. "Lieutenant, it'd be mighty handy to have a girl who can walk through walls and a guy with laser eyes."

Scott decided this might not be the best time to correct misconceptions about his mutation.

"Major Hawkins is right," another marine said. "After all, Logan's been damn helpful so far."

"Logan? Where is he?" Scott looked around the room, but saw only grim-faced marines and other members of the crew.

"He and a couple of the guys are doing a little scouting around engineering. Lieutenant, he got hit by that Xindi weapon and got right back up!"

A small access point at the far end of the room swung open and the weapons turned that way, relaxing when Logan and several soldiers jumped out.

"What's the situation?" Reed asked.

"Engineering's locked down. The bastards haven't gotten in yet, but they're getting close." The soldier continued to give his report and Logan trotted over to Scott.

"Ugly," he said, a snarl hovering on his lips. "But they die when you cut them."

Scott nodded, already tuning in to the conversation. Reed had a map of the ship up, pointing out where he wanted troops to go. Sighing at the necessity, Scott called, "What about us?"

Reed twisted halfway around. "I want you to stay out of this."

Scott had already picked out his target and with a quick flick of his visor, he blasted a stool halfway across the room, people leaping out of its way. "I can do a lot more than that. Let me help."

"Let us help," Bobby said.

Scott shot him a look, and was about to tell him no, but from the look on his face and Kitty's, that would be a struggle he'd lose, along with valuable time.

He couldn't call Reed indecisive either. "Fine, you're all with me. Gomez, Chen, join Hawkins. The rest of you know what to do. Go."

"What are we doing?" Kitty asked.

Reed looked at her and looked at Scott. "If you're sure..."

Bobby stood up straight and tried to look like an adult. "We're not waiting here!"

Scott grinned quickly, a well of pride in his chest. "But I want the two of you to stay intangible as much as possible, okay?" They nodded and he looked at Reed. "They're with us."

"Good, then we're going to take back the bridge. I've spent a lot of time training Captain Archer. I'd hate for it to go to waste."

* * *

The deck was cold under Jon's knees as he knelt, but not nearly as cold as his anger at the reptilian Xindi who sat in his chair, his splotchy, bumpy face contorted into an amused snarl. The Xindi who'd casually backhanded Trip into a bulkhead when he'd refused to lock down the ship's doors. The one who'd shot Ensign Tanner from the armory, who'd tried to defend the bridge.

From where he knelt, a hard hand against the back of his neck, Jon was pretty sure he could see both Trip and Tanner breathing. Elsewhere, he knew the crew was fighting, because the reports coming in to the Xindi commander said so. His eyes widened at the reports of a man with claws. Jon hoped the visitors from another Earth weren't going to get themselves killed in his fight.

"I have not been able to break the final codes," the Xindi at the science console said.

"Then perhaps," the commander said, "It is time we convinced these humans to help." He stepped over to where Trip lay and lifted him up like a rag doll. "Would you miss this one? Or perhaps that one over there?" He pointed at T'Pol, whose face didn't change.

Breathing gone shallow, Jon couldn't respond, couldn't move. He had to wait, to stall, but his mind was blank. Hurry, Malcolm, he thought.

* * *

Reed eyed the mutants as the rest of the security team dispersed. Scott could detect a hint of amusement when all of them studied him back.

Reed tapped a few commands into a handheld device. "We'll use your ability to go through walls to put us right behind the bridge. These are the schematics."

Scott held the display so the other three could see.

"Here's what we're going to do..."

* * *

Trip's head lolled forward, a puppet held by a malevolent puppeteer. Short sharp breaths escaped Jon as he stared at his friend. T'Pol was silent, but he knew what she or Trip would be telling him.

There was no possible response to the Xindi, so he stared at the commander, despair burning his heart. He wanted to close his eyes but that would be a betrayal. He held his breath as the Xindi growled, holding a weapon to Trip's head.

The bridge seemed to explode with simultaneous action. A thin, red beam smashed into the weapon pointed at Trip's head, followed by one that threw the Xindi and Trip against the wall. Before anyone could respond, Malcolm was there, shooting Xindi with surgical precision.

Two hapless Xindi standing in front of the captain's chair were practically skewered by Logan, claws out and a full-throated roar coming from his chest.

Struggling upright, the Xindi commander reached for another weapon strapped to his chest, but before it cleared its casing, it was covered in a thick layer of ice.

Dazed, Jon watched Kitty blithely running through weapons aimed at her, which then refused to fire. Streams of ice flew from Bobby's hand to smash a Xindi who tried to attack with just his hands.

It was all over so fast he barely had time to catch his breath. While Scott and Bobby kept an eye on the unconscious Xindi, Malcolm hurried over to him, glancing down at the manacles that held his wrists. "Logan?"

The sound of metal grating on metal, and one claw came out of the man's knuckles. More delicately than Jon might have imagined, Logan used the claw to slice off his handcuffs.

Over Malcolm's shoulder, Jon could see Trip slowly sitting up with Kitty's assistance. She dabbed at several wounds, but Jon saw none that looked especially serious.

From that point, retaking the ship was almost anticlimactic. Before Jon was even standing upright, Malcolm and T'Pol were receiving reports from all over the ship. "Sir, engineering has been secured by my team."

"Good."

"There's still a great deal of hand-to-hand combat in the corridors, but we've got them on the run." Malcolm snapped several orders into a communicator and Jon took the opportunity to turn toward the visitors, who were standing guard over the Xindi that had been on the bridge.

"Thank you," he said to Summers.

"It's not done," Logan said. "They're still out there."

Summers looked at Jon, his expression long-suffering. "Captain, with your permission, I think my associate here would like to go hit some more Xindi."

Jon glanced at Malcolm, who nodded. "Far be it from me to prevent someone from hitting Xindi on my ship."

Logan and Malcolm went into a huddle over a map and Jon turned to T'Pol. "Sub-commander?"

"I am well, Captain. There is some damage to sensors, but I believe I am detecting approximately 50 Xindi on Enterprise and another 100 on their own ship."

"We've neutralized at least 40 of those that are here," Malcolm said as Logan dropped into a Jeffries tube toward the lower decks.

"What next, Malcolm?"

"Sir, we should--" His eyes snapped back to the display in front of him. "They're retreating."

Everyone looked up from their tasks.

"Good," Jon said, sighing. "Right now that's good enough. Get our people out of their way. I don't want anyone killed while the enemy is leaving."

"Aye, sir."

Malcolm issued quiet orders and Jon turned to T'Pol. "Get me a damage report as soon as possible. And get someone up here to guard these pris--"

A yelp from Kitty made Jon's heart jump as he whirled. She and the other mutants stared in surprise at the empty space that had formerly held the highest-ranking Xindi.

"Damn!" Malcolm growled. "Matter transporter. Figures their captain would have an out."

Jon sank down in his chair, weary from head to toe.

"A message incoming from the Xindi ship," T'Pol said, her voice an oasis of calm.

Looking automatically for Hoshi at her station, Jon caught himself. "Let's see it."

"Audio only, Captain."

A hissing sound filled the bridge until T'Pol had compensated. "Humans. You may think you have won, but you are wrong. We will be back again and again until your entire species is destroyed."

Silence, punctured only by the sounds of a repair crew.

"Ah, that's what they always say," Scott said.

All eyes turned to stare at him, disbelief on every face until they saw the small grin. Despite himself, Jon snorted out a laugh. Kitty and Bobby laughed so hard they had to sit down, their humor tinged with hysteria and adrenaline. Gradually, everyone else joined in, except T'Pol who steadfastly ignored them.

* * *

Jon looked around the conference room table at his senior staff. "Concerns?"

"They're dangerous, Captain," Malcolm said with a frown. "More dangerous than we'd guessed."

"They saved the ship!" Hoshi glared at Malcolm. "They risked their lives to protect us."

T'Pol looked up from her padd. "They acted to protect themselves as well, Ensign."

"Their actions don't necessarily prove anything," Trip said with a sigh.

With all due respect, sir, I must disagree." Travis lifted his chin. "They could have taken our ship before this. They could have hidden and waited for us to retake the ship. They put themselves in danger to save the lives of our crew."

Jon nodded slowly. "I think they have redeemed the trust I placed in them."

"I agree," Malcolm said.

There was a long pause as every head turned to stare at him. Even T'Pol's eyes widened slightly.

"What did you say?" Trip asked, each word distinct and the expression on his face displaying a clear message: Who are you and what have you done with Malcolm Reed?

Malcolm's eyebrows rose and he seemed puzzled as he looked around the room. "I only said they were dangerous. I didn't say they couldn't be trusted."

Jon felt his lips twitch and he tried not to laugh aloud. Trip shook his head in disgust and T'Pol had her 'I will never understand humans' face on.

"Well, then," Jon said, "other concerns?" He looked at Trip and T'Pol.

Trip shrugged. "I think they're okay, Cap'n. They came by accident, far as we can tell."

"T'Pol?"

"It would not be logical for me to overrule Mr. Reed's professional opinion," she said.

"Not the most ringing endorsement I've ever heard," Jon said.

"Captain?"

"Never mind. Hoshi, any luck in contacting Admiral Forrest?"

"No, sir. Too much interference."

"Okay. They don't get total access to the ship, but we'll remove some of the restrictions. Access to the armory and engineering should be under supervision."

Nods around the table and Jon took a breath. "Back to work, everyone. We've still got Xindi to track."

* * *

Jon found all four mutants in the mess hall. They looked up as he approached, expressions revealing--Logan fiercely protective, Kitty worried, Bobby frightened but trying to look tough, and Summers, even his blank face had cracked slightly to show concern.

"Join me in the captain's dining room?"

The kids still looked worried, but Logan and Summers relaxed at the phrasing of a question rather than an order. No question those two were sharp.

Everyone settled around the table and Jon sat at the end, choosing his words with care. "Let me begin by allaying any fears you might have. We have not changed our minds about offering you safe harbor."

"Thank you," Summers said. "As you can imagine, we were concerned."

"I understand. Knowing what you four can do and seeing it, well, they're too different things." Jon looked at the ceiling. "I think I also see why people on your world are so worried."

Logan snorted and Summers shot him an indecipherable look.

"But we helped," Kitty said, looking at the adults for reassurance.

Jon sighed. "I know, but it's a question of human nature--no pun intended."

Bobby choked back a snort of laughter and Logan grinned at him.

"I don't get it." Kitty's voice was very small.

Jon looked at Summers and Logan, neither of whom looked inclined to answer. "It's hard," he said, feeling his way, "for most people to believe that you wouldn't use your abilities to do wrong."

"That's not fair!"

"I know," Jon said.

"How do we convince them?" Bobby asked.

Summers looked at the boy. "We keep doing what we've been doing. We set an example. We fight the legislation as it comes. We stop Magneto."

The kids seemed satisfied with that, but Logan looked away. For that matter, Jon thought, Summers didn't sound all that convinced by his own words. Although, with the death of his fiancée and the events he'd described, who would blame him?

"Captain?"

"Hmm?" He looked at Summers.

"How will your crew react to us? Should we be concerned?"

"Good question." Tapping his fingers on the table, Jon considered it with the seriousness it deserved. "There may be a few who avoid you, but my crew is unusual. We've been places and seen things most of humanity can't even imagine yet. I think your defense of this ship should be good enough for most. I think you'll find you're welcome here."

Logan looked about to say something, but Summers caught his attention. They didn't speak, but an entire conversation seemed to flash by. Jon glanced at Kitty and Bobby, but since they didn't look worried, he assumed it was normal behavior.

"Thank you," Summers said after a moment.

"If you have no other questions, I still have repairs to supervise."

"That was the most important thing," Summers said.

Rising from the table, Jon nodded at all four visitors. "I'm sorry your introduction to this century has been so stressful. I hope things calm down."

* * *

Scott was frustrated he couldn't do anything to help repair the ship, but one look at the innards of a bulkhead and he knew he was out of his league. He gravitated to sickbay, where he found, to his pleasure, that he could understand some of what went on there.

"Medical technology has evolved," Phlox said as he showed Scott how to use a dermal regenerator, "but the basic principles remain the same. You'll do fine."

Logan was off guarding the prisoners and trading war stories, and Hoshi had taken the kids off to wind down. But Scott couldn't quite relax, so he scanned and set bones and cleaned wounds. Finally, the last patient was healed and either sent to their quarters or bedded down in sickbay. Phlox cleaned his hands, looking pleased, and Scott leaned against a wall, yawning.

"My fiancée was a doctor," he said, staring at the opposite wall with its hypnotic display of twisting and twining DNA strands.

"Oh?"

"She was brilliant, she was learning all about mutations, but she was always ready to stop and put a bandage on one of the kids." His face felt like it was on fire and when he looked over, Phlox was waiting. "Jean would have loved to talk to you about medicine, see your equipment."

Phlox smiled.

Why did he feel the need to talk about her now? Since her death, he'd barely said her name, but there was something freeing about this place where only his three teammates knew her, and the locals didn't feel any guilt over her death.

"I miss Jean so much," he said quietly.

Phlox nodded. "If one of my wives died, I would be saddened. As it is, being without them is the hardest thing about being on the Enterprise."

Distracted, Scott had to wonder if he'd heard correctly. "Wives?"

"Yes, I have three. Each of whom have other husbands, so at least they are not lonely while I'm gone. It is really a most sensible system."

"I'm...sure." For a moment, Scott had a dizzying vision of being married to Ororo and Jean and another woman, who were also married to Logan and...

That was when his brain imploded and he shook his head.

"But it's not for every species," Phlox added.

"Mmmm."

Silence fell again, broken only by the background hum of the machines attached to each bed. Scott crossed his arms and watched the rise and fall of the nearest crewman's chest. He felt close to Jean here, in this place of healing she would have enjoyed so much.

* * *

Battle over and repairs underway, Jon indulged himself. Late in ship's night, when the mess hall was mostly empty, he sipped a glass of whiskey, staring at the stars streaming by. Certainly, he could have done so in his quarters or the captain's mess, but he'd developed this habit early on and kept on with it. Somehow, drinking in public wasn't quite as depressing as drinking in private, even if nobody was drinking with him.

Perhaps the logic was a bit circular, but it worked well enough.

Jon stared into his glass, trying to sort through everything that had happened recently. The liquid held just as few answers as always.

Another Xindi attack. Thankfully, there'd been no new deaths, but there were some serious injuries. Trip was alive, no thanks to anything he'd done. If not for their visitors, there was no telling if Malcolm would have arrived in time.

What the hell were they doing out here anyway? They were turning into creatures just as bad as the Xindi. Hell, who was he kidding? He was turning into someone just as bad as the Xindi. Could they ever return to Earth? What would the rest of the world think of whatever they had to do to make the mission succeed?

What was happening to them?

Behind him, the hiss of the opening door surprised him. He craned his head, eyebrows going up when he saw Logan paused in the doorway, looking hesitant.

"Captain."

"Logan." Jon glanced at his bottle. "Join me?"

That netted him a slight grin as Logan snagged a glass and sat down across the small table from him. Jon poured a good-sized slosh in and Logan nodded his thanks, leaning back.

"Good stuff," he said after tasting it.

"I figured if I was lugging it this far, it'd better be good."

Logan grunted and settled back in his chair, staring out at the stars, his expression nearly as unreadable as his leader's.

Jon went back to sipping, watching Logan out of the corner of his eye. It was odd to sit so comfortably with him, even as part of his brain screamed that the man was incredibly dangerous.

Summers hadn't said that much about Logan, other than mentioning his healing ability and how the government had coated his bones in some kind of metal which had Trip and T'Pol spending hours poring over samples. Malcolm agreed with Jon's assessment that Logan was ex-military and had been trained as a killer, possibly even some kind of special forces. The MACOs showed him the kind of deference that Malcolm would have appreciated receiving, so presumably they knew something everyone else didn't.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes or ears that Summers and Logan didn't like each other one bit; nevertheless, Logan followed Summers, equally obviously respecting him as a leader, and Summers trusted Logan on his team, giving him assignments and assuming they'd be done.

Logan was a killer. Or at least he had been.

Summers had to know that. Professor Xavier, the telepath, had to know that. But Logan was still a part of the team, and a trusted one if he'd been sent as one of two adults to recruit a new student to the school.

Logan had found his place, even after doing...whatever it was he'd done. For whatever reason, he'd dedicated himself to Xavier's attempts at peaceful coexistence and he'd been accepted.

"Something wrong?" Logan glanced at him over the rim of the glass.

Jon shook his head. "Just thinking."

"I figured you were drinking in order to stop thinking for a while."

"Yeah." Jon poured himself another few fingers. "I guess I was."

Logan studied him for a second and then went back to staring out at the stars. "Don't think, then."

"Is it that easy?"

"Sometimes."

"Then I'll try."

Jon sipped the whiskey and tried not to think about anything. Except maybe that there was hope for Enterprise's crew after all.

* * *

The kids settled into shipboard routine with ease and Scott was amazed, as always, by how adaptable his students were. Kitty became the darling of the comm crew, who taught her linguistics and electronics. She could nearly always be found with her head bent over a console while someone showed her some new trick or technique.

Scott made a mental note to get her more computer training if--when--they got home.

Bobby was nearly adopted by the engineering crew and spent much of his time climbing through the maintenance tunnels. He wasn't picking up quite as much engineering as Kitty was programming, but Scott was sure he was learning something--if only the importance of education.

Logan, of course, was an honorary marine, MACO, whatever, before their first full day was done. It had become a mutual admiration society down there, cemented by their joint love of a good scrap and dislike of one Malcolm Reed, chief armory officer.

The armory crew and the MACOs didn't seem to like each other very much, apparently all part of a turf war set off when the Enterprise's mission switched from peaceful exploration to near-war. And while Logan and Reed had come to some sort of understanding while fending off the attack, they hadn't precisely become best buddies.

Everyone else was settled in, but Scott found himself at a loss. What was a math teacher and leader of a team of mutants supposed to do on a Starfleet ship? He often ate with the captain and they had many an illuminating conversation about the nature of leadership. Sometimes Sub-commander T'Pol allowed him to observe her work, and that was probably his favorite thing; he'd always enjoyed astronomy and now he was seeing up close and personal things he'd only read about in Sky and Telescope.

But he couldn't follow either of them around like a puppy, so he found himself spending more and more time reading--Earth history, Vulcan history, whatever he could dig up in the computer.

Leaning back in the seat in his temporary quarters, he glanced at the time. Reed would be getting off duty soon, so it was probably a good time to take off. Although their initial dislike had faded, they weren't exactly comfortable with each other either. When was the last time he'd eaten, anyway?

Not for the first time, Scott found himself uncomfortable with the total separation from the natural cycles of day and night on Earth. He shrugged. Probably a result of his mutation's connection to sunlight, he supposed, and why he felt better when undergoing his doctor-mandated UV therapy.

Closing down the latest article on Khan Noonien Singh, he stretched, feeling his back pop, then wandered to the mess hall.

He sat in a corner, toying with a plate of spaghetti. Various crewmembers nodded to him as they ducked in for a cup of coffee or a sandwich, but seemed to sense his desire to be alone. They probably had a great deal of practice at figuring that out about their crewmates.

Two figures came in, not paying attention to their surroundings, and hovered over the desserts for several minutes before making their selection. Kitty grinned up at Hoshi, saying something that Scott didn't catch.

Plates in hand, they sat down, still oblivious, and talked. Scott smiled as he watched them, happy to see Kitty with a female role model. Those were in short supply at the school.

He only caught occasional words, but they seemed to be covering a wide variety of topics, from boys to nanotechnology, best friends to electronics. Other crewwomen stopped now and then to talk to them, weighing in on the topic at hand.

So engrossed was Scott, he failed to notice the figure approaching him, until someone spoke.

"Mr. Summers?"

"Hmm?" He looked up to find Sub-commander T'Pol, holding a cup of tea. "Oh, hello. Would you care to join me?"

"Thank you." She sat, the steaming mug emitting a vaguely familiar scent.

Scott took a bite of his spaghetti, finding himself oddly comfortable with this alien woman--probably because he knew she wasn't bothered by silence. That was hard to find.

T'Pol surprised him. "May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly." Scott found himself intrigued what question she might have that couldn't be asked while researching their arrival and his mutation.

"It is difficult to find the right phrasing." She sipped her tea, then looked him in the eye. "I am curious about your shielding and where you acquired it."

For a moment, Scott had a vision of body armor, before he realized what she meant. "Oh! You mean my mental shields."

"Yes." T'Pol inclined her head. "It is not common knowledge, but Vulcans have some telepathic abilities."

From the way she said it, Scott got the idea 'not common knowledge' meant something more like 'state secret.' "Not the kind of thing everyone needs to know, I would think."

She nodded. "Yes. I have noticed that your students have rudimentary shields better than many on Enterprise, your other teammate's shielding is erratic but strong, and yours is...exemplary. This was unexpected."

Scott looked down at his plate, remembering hours spent training with Jean and the Professor, games they would play to teach him to keep them out when they weren't wanted. "Professor Xavier is an extremely strong telepath and my fiancée was...a telepath and telekinetic."

"I was not aware of that."

"I've trained for years to keep up shields at all times, both to protect from an enemy and also for their comfort. We teach the children the same."

"As we do on Vulcan. It is restful to encounter humans who do not intrude upon my mind."

He smiled, stirring the spaghetti. "Jean--my fiancée--used to say similar things. She loved coming back to the school because it might be noisier to her ears, but it was quieter to her mind."

"I understand." T'Pol sipped her tea. "The noise can be overwhelming on occasion, even through my own shields."

Scott nodded, wondering what Jean would have made of T'Pol. He rather thought she'd have liked her.


	4. Expect the Unexpected

The ship seemed to take a breath and then red lights flashed and a blaring siren wailed, feeling like nails piercing his skull. "Not again!" Scott growled as he jumped out of the way of running crewmen.

Turning once in a circle, Scott found his direction and took off for the armory, pausing only for a moment to step aside and replace his glasses with the visor he'd taken to carrying. He had to hope that the other three would think to go there as well.

A dive left through closing elevator doors caused him to nearly run into two marines, who fortunately chose not to say anything about his presence, simply nodding as one hit the emergency setting that overrode the normal speed limitations and made it a very express elevator.

Scott swallowed sharply and held onto the wall as they dove downward to the armory level. The doors opened and they jumped out, nearly mowing down Bobby jogging down the hall.

The marines disappeared toward heavy weaponry as Bobby sighed in relief. "Mr. Summers!"

"Good thinking to come here," Scott said. "Let's go--"

The whining sound of alien gunfire erupted and Scott shoved Bobby behind him, swiveling, hand to his visor.

"Go!" Scott yelled.

"But I--"

A Xindi marched around the corner, bold and unafraid. Scott shot him square in the chest, amused at his look of surprise as he flew back to slam against the wall.

Two more leaned out, more cautious than their teammate and as Scott blasted one's arm, he saw the other pinned by ice. "Get to the armory. Now!"

Finally hearing Bobby run, Scott put as much of himself behind a strut as he could and shot anything that didn't look like Enterprise crew. Shots whined over his head and skinned so close to his arm he felt their passage.

Scott heard the elevator door open and he turned, in time to see the end of a gun slam into his head.

Everything went pale, then black.

* * *

Scott drifted back to consciousness, dragged the last few yards by a pounding headache. He tried to rub his forehead, but found his arms bound to the hard surface he lay on. Not a good sign.

Eyes still closed, he strained for some clue to his whereabouts. It neither sounded nor smelled like the Enterprise's sickbay.

My god. What if he'd somehow shifted himself again? What if he'd left the others behind with no way to get home?

Scott tried to breathe deeply and calm his racing heart. Time enough to panic when he knew the situation.

Voices. Definitely voices approaching.

"...bring me one?" A harsh voice growled.

"The others evaded us. We only caught this one because he was protecting one of the young humans."

Scott let out a slow breath. So, same universe and the others were safe. That was certainly good news. Of course, that left him in the clutches of what were presumably reptilian Xindi. Not so good.

Nearby, there was a clanking sound that reminded Scott of bad prison movies. He weighed mental odds before opening his eyes to see two Xindi staring down at him, one tall and angry-looking, the other shorter and carrying some kind of weapon. They were both the ugliest things he'd ever seen, their faces looking more like a bad case of leprosy than anything else.

"Human," the taller one said. It sounded like a curse.

"Yes, I am," Scott said, finding a speck of amusement in the irony.

The Xindi began to prowl while the other stood by the door. "What happens if I take off your eyepieces?"

"Your ship develops a nasty leakage problem."

More pacing. "Fascinating."

Scott studied what he could of his prison. It looked pretty effective, especially with no hands free. No control over his optic blasts left very few options. Besides, even if he got out of the room, where was he going to go?

"What is the source of your power?"

Scott recited the Pledge of Allegiance, "The Road Not Taken," and was starting in on "Stairway to Heaven" when the Xindi slammed a fist into his stomach. "Tell me!"

Choking and gasping for breath, Scott's body tried to curl into a protective ball, but was prevented by his bonds. "No," he choked out after a few moments.

"You will tell us. Then you will describe the human plan to attack the Xindi homeworld."

"I don't know any plans," Scott said. "Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn't." No chance he'd be believed, of course, but one had to try.

"You lie. Just like all humans lie." The Xindi grabbed his chin, forcing Scott to look at him. "You are alone here. And you will tell what we need to know."

Behind his glasses, Scott closed his eyes.

* * *

Logan's pacing was starting to make Jon nervous--the man looked more dangerous every minute.

"Sit down," Jon said, emulating the tone Summers had taken in Sickbay.

Logan stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him, face twisted in the beginning of a snarl. The rest of the room's occupants held their breath, except Malcolm, whose hand was on a phase pistol.

Logan held his eyes for a long moment, but finally his face relaxed and he sat down next to Bobby around the conference table. Jon took a moment to mentally thank the Vulcans for all those hours spent in diplomatic staring matches.

"Now that I've heard your damage reports, what are our options?"

"Leave Mr. Summers where he is," T'Pol said.

All three visitors started to shout, but stopped when Jon held up a hand. "Is that the option you plan to recommend, Sub-commander?"

"Unlikely, Captain. But it is an option."

"Thank you. Next?"

* * *

Scott opened and closed his jaws a few times, relieved to find nothing broken, just sore. Actually, he was hard-pressed to find a part of himself that didn't ache.

The Xindi doctor/scientist/chief torturer looked pleased with himself, which Scott assumed was bad.

"I believe I begin to understand."

"Explain," the Xindi captain said.

"This one's genome is different than the other humans we've examined. It appears to be some kind of genetic manipulation. If we had the others, I could get a better idea which differences are important."

The doctor put down the electronic notepad he'd been studying and picked up another piece of equipment.

It was involuntary--Scott winced. He'd become rather more intimate with the tissue sampler than he'd have preferred. He suspected it was intended to be used with an anesthetic.

The Xindi jammed it into his thigh and Scott threw his head back, gritting his teeth at the pain, like someone scraping out his insides with a dull spoon.

Blood oozed out when the sampler was removed, trickling down to join one of several puddles on the table.

Scott took three slow breaths before he could unclench his jaw. Struggling not to pant, he opened his eyes again.

"I must take this back to my lab for further testing." Picking up his samples, the doctor turned. "Oh, Captain? Don't kill him yet. It's so much harder to extract data from dying cells."

"Don't worry, I'm not done with him."

As the door swished shut behind the doctor, the captain squeezed Scott's leg where the sampler had been. Scott gasped as the pain rocketed up his leg.

"I don't know anything about Enterprise's plans," he managed to croak out. "It doesn't matter how much you hurt me, I still won't know."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're a stubborn fool at war with humans even though we've done nothing to harm you."

The captain's hand felt like a brick as it slammed his face to the right and Scott felt more blood flow down his cheek.

"Where is your ship going?"

"I don't know."

"What weaponry does it carry?"

"Whatever they shot at you with, I'd imagine."

"Why do you want to destroy our homeworld?"

"We don't! Earth had never even heard of you before you attacked."

This time, the blow plunged Scott into blissful oblivion.

* * *

Vibration drew Scott from his unconscious state. For a moment, he thought it was some new torture technique, until he realized the entire room was shaking like a tilt-a-whirl.

He tried to develop a plan to use this to his advantage, but was distracted by jostling, each movement drawing painfully on another wound. Besides, almost any good escape plan required at least the use of one hand. He'd prefer not blowing a hole in the vessel that was providing his oxygen supply, although...

The table dropped out from under him, making his stomach roll. A hard twist to the left stretched abused muscles and Scott groaned, his vision whiting out. He could feel blood trickling from reopened wounds, warm and sticky on his skin.

Eyes closed, he tried to focus through the pain. When the door to his cell opened, he cursed under his breath.

"Bloody hell," a familiar British voice said softly.

Scott opened his eyes to see Captain Archer and Lt. Reed cutting away his bonds. Speechless for a second, he finally managed to say, "What took you so long?" as the captain helped him sit up.

"You know how it is," Archer said, smiling broadly, "places to go, things to do."

"Mmm." Scott grinned, but choked when he tried to put pressure on his left leg. "Down to one leg."

Archer sobered. "Okay." He threw Scott's arm over his shoulder. "We'll do it the hard way, then. Malcolm, let's go."

They staggered out the door, where they found Logan and one of the Marines. Hayes, Scott vaguely remembered the man's name was. Logan looked relieved to see him, which gave Scott a moment of amusement before he realized he was the man's ticket home. Oh well.

"Don't wander off again, Cyclops," Logan said, pacing alongside them as they staggered down the lurching hallway. "I can't track you in space."

"I'll try to stay put." He bit back a curse as a sudden movement made him lean on the injured left leg. "What did you do to this ship?"

Reed didn't turn, but in profile, Scott could see him looking smug. "It's a little trick I've been saving up for such an occasion, exploiting a flaw in the Xindi ship design. They're going to be busy fixing their engine for a few hours yet."

"Nice."

"Thank you."

Hayes glared at all of them, and they shut up as he leaned around a corner then motioned them forward. Scott found it required all his energy to stay upright and he hoped fervently he wouldn't have to defend himself in any way.

They staggered down another corridor and questions started to occur to Scott. "You didn't dock with this ship, did you?" he whispered.

"Of course not." Reed looked offended at the very suggestion.

"Then how are we getting out?"

"You ever been through a matter transmitter?" Archer asked as he and Scott limped up the step onto a platform.

"What?" Scott raised his head. Then everything dissolved into sparkles. He had a vague memory of voices and he collapsed.

* * *

Scott decided he was incredibly tired of coming back to consciousness in bizarre circumstances. Really, the novelty had completely worn off and his life could go back to normal any day now. Whatever normal was. Never mind.

A quick physical evaluation showed vast improvement over what he last remembered and the smells were right this time, so he opened his eyes, relieved.

"Mr. Summers!" Bobby looked up from a screen and grinned at him.

Phlox bustled over before Scott could marshal enough brainpower to respond. "Ah, Mr. Summers, good to see you awake."

"Mmm. Good to be awake. Do I get a frequent visitor's card now?"

"Absolutely. But I really would prefer to see less of you, you know."

Bobby was busy at the communications system and Scott kept an eye on him, amused by the teen's competence with the technology. "Everybody's on their way," Bobby said as he came over to the bed. "We were worried about you."

"Sorry, Bobby. Believe me, it wasn't my choice. You know, I don't normally make such a habit of this," Scott said to Phlox. "Usually I'm angry with someone else for getting hurt."

The frosted Sickbay door opened and Captain Archer strode in, followed by Kitty and Logan. Kitty grinned with relief and Scott smiled at her.

"Good to have you back," the captain said.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue."

Kitty bounced up and down impatiently. "They wouldn't let us help!"

"We argued," Bobby said, "but Logan agreed with them."

"Glad to hear it." Scott looked at Logan, who inclined his head. He might be a loose cannon about most things, but at least he could be trusted to do his best to take care of the kids. That was oddly comforting.

"Somehow I was sure you'd approve." Archer grinned at the two kids, who grinned back despite themselves.

Archer sobered as he turned back to Scott, who nodded in understanding. "Kitty, Bobby, now that you've seen I'm safe, you can get back to what you were doing. We'll talk later. This time I'm promise I'm not going anywhere."

He didn't fool either of them and they looked mildly mutinous at being dismissed, but obediently filed out the door.

Archer sighed. "Phlox tells me that beside the obvious signs of interrogation, the Xindi also seem to have studied you. Possibly experimented."

Behind the captain, Logan's entire body tensed, as if ready to spring.

"They took a great many samples of bone and blood, but you arrived before they got past that." Scott took a moment to catch his breath. "I'm not sure what they'll learn from that, but I doubt it'll be good."

Phlox spoke up. "I wouldn't worry, Mr. Summers. I suspect that whatever they learn about humans from studying you will simply confuse them."

Logan smirked. "Confusion to our enemies."

"I'm inclined to agree with the doctor," Archer said. "I don't think you need to concern yourself with that."

"I hope you're right. In any case, I'm grateful I didn't find out what they had planned next."

Archer's expression darkened, eyebrows drawing together. "Agreed. Look if you want to talk about--"

"I'm fine." Scott evaded Logan's gaze, unready to deal with what he might see there, and he willed the man to stay quiet.

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

Archer looked unconvinced. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, Captain."

Archer strode out of the room and Logan turned to follow. Pausing, he looked back. "Cyclops," he said, his shoulders tense.

"Wolverine." Scott nodded once, acknowledging him.

The other man relaxed and paced out, leaving behind an amused Scott. That was almost an emotional display. Or something.

"And now I think it's time you get some rest," Phlox said.

Obediently, Scott closed his eyes, drifting off into half-sleep, where shadowy figures made incomprehensible pronouncements about his fate. Not quite a nightmare, but not bucolic dreams either. In the odd way of dreams, Scott eventually decided he'd rather be awake and found his eyes open and staring at the Sickbay ceiling.

He blinked a few times, then heard the faint rustling of someone sitting nearby. Probably one of the kids, he thought, looking for reassurance about his continued presence. But when he glanced to his left, to his surprise, he found Lt. Reed seated in a chair with an electronic notebook which he was studying.

Astounded, Scott tried to figure out why he might be under guard. The captain certainly hadn't mentioned that earlier.

Reed glanced up, nodding when he met Scott's eyes. "Good morning," he said.

"Is it morning?"

"By the standards of alpha shift, yes."

"Well, good morning, then." Scott searched for a marginally subtle way of asking 'Am I under arrest...again?'

"How are you feeling?"

The question seemed sincere. "Your doctor works wonders."

Reed nodded.

"Thank you for the rescue."

"You're welcome." Reed's eyebrows rose. "The least we could do for a shipmate, even one who is temporary."

Shipmate? Scott relaxed, since that didn't sound like he was under arrest.

One corner of Reed's mouth twitched and Scott suspected the other man knew exactly what he had been thinking. Bastard, he thought, the word tinged with affection.

Scott closed his eyes again, savoring the lack of any real pain. Excellent drugs in this century, that was certain.

Reed seemed content to sit quietly. When Scott looked at him again, he was relaxed, but appeared to be waiting.

Looking at the faded bruises on his hands, Scott shrugged internally. It was his ship. If he wanted to sit and watch one of the mutants recover from...recover, the chief of security was welcome to do so. Presumably, he had Phlox's permission, since Scott strongly doubted that anything went on in this space unapproved by the mild-seeming doctor.

Scott tried to go back to sleep, but vague memories of his dreams, combined with curiosity gnawed at his brain, keeping him awake. In his imagination, Jean laughed. 'Never could resist a puzzle, could you?'

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

For the first time since they'd arrived on the ship, Scott saw Reed's face split into a smile. "Blunt," he said. "But I think the question is rather, can I help you?"

"In what way?"

Reed paused, looking uncertain--also unusual. "I thought, well, I and my staff have specific training to deal with situations...such as you've encountered."

"Being stranded in an alternate universe in the middle of a nearly incomprehensible war?"

Frowning, Reed leaned forward. "No need to be flippant."

"I'm sorry." Scott stared at the ceiling. "Yes, I know what you mean. And I appreciate your coming here."

"But?"

If you stare at a plain metal ceiling long enough, you start to see patterns, swirls, tiny flaws in the surface. Scott traced a line from the far corner of the room, watched it dip and twirl, ending up directly over his bed. "But this is not my first experience of this nature. Perhaps a bit more blood, but not unique."

"And how did you deal with the aftermath of those previous incidents?"

Jean's hand caressing his forehead, soothing his mind. A cool peppermint smell from her favorite hand lotion. "Repress and deny. It's worked fairly well so far." Reed didn't respond and Scott listened to the scuffling and hissing of Dr. Phlox's menagerie, studying the ceiling once again. Giving in, he looked at Reed. "Yes?"

"Have you thought about discussing your experiences with someone?"

"Not really."

Reed continued to wait, patient and silent, looking as if he was prepared to wait forever. Maybe he was right. Talking to someone who understood wasn't a bad idea.

"Losing control is the worst," he said, swallowing a knot in his throat.

Reed nodded. "Agreed."

Some time later, Phlox came to feed the animals, but he didn't interrupt their low-voiced conversation, just smiled and went about his business.

* * *

The summons to sickbay two days after Phlox released him wasn't a great shock for Scott. He'd been in and out while Phlox and T'Pol, ran various tests. And if someone was hurt, they'd have said so--like the previous week when Bobby broke his wrist doing hand-to-hand with Lt. Reed.

Scott ran into the captain coming down the wide hallway to sickbay. He nodded. "Afternoon, Captain."

"Is it?" He looked surprised. "I forgot to eat lunch again."

"Don't tell Phlox."

Archer hit the button to open the door, grinning wryly. "No, I won't."

T'Pol and Phlox were waiting, both looking serious, and Scott glanced at the other man as he realized they'd both been summoned.

"Captain, Mr. Summers, the doctor and I have made significant progress, but it requires some consultation before we proceed further."

"Consultation?" Archer asked.

Phlox looked at Scott. "The Sub-commander believes she may be able to help you reverse the events that brought you here. And I believe I can repair the portion of your brain that controls your mutation."

Scott could only stare, utterly unable to form a coherent thought in response to those two statements. He had lived with his broken mind for so long it had not occurred to him in many years that someone might fix it. A funny feeling in his chest and head reminded him that breathing was probably a good idea.

His gasp was buried under the captain's words. "Good job."

But neither Phlox nor T'Pol was looking at the captain. "There is a caveat," T'Pol said. "If we repair the damage, there is a chance you might not be able to return home."

Phlox added, "And there is always the risk that I might damage your vision further."

Scott swayed in place and the captain grabbed his arm, brow furrowed and a question on his lips. For a moment, Scott didn't see T'Pol's calm face, rather he saw Jean's somber one explaining that she and Hank would keep looking for answers, but his glasses were probably permanent.

"As long as I can look at you," he'd said, smiling gently, "I'll survive."

Scott relaxed his clenched jaw when realized the Enterprise crew were waiting for his response. "Are you sure?"

"No," Phlox said. "There is no way to be certain of either outcome."

Archer's face looked drawn, sad, understanding. Scott wondered how many hard choices he'd had to make.

"I need to think about this," he said. "It's all very sudden."

"Certainly," Archer said, "take your time."

His feet started moving of their own accord, taking him down endless gray corridors. Nodding politely to passing crew, he found himself at the entrance to a place the ship's pilot had shown him.

Travis had grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the most infectious smile. "How do you do in zero g?"

"I love it, why?"

"Then you're gonna love this." Travis launched himself into the room in a leap, floating gently to the other side.

Scott's eyes went wide and he took a careful step, floating as his stomach did two flip-flops and settled down. After some lessons on moving in weightless conditions, Travis left him to enjoy the area called 'the sweet spot.'

It had quickly become Scott's favorite place on the Enterprise and today he rolled his way to the very top corner to hover and think about the bombshells that were dropped on him before his capture by the Xindi.

It was mind-boggling, terrifying, and altogether almost impossible to consider: the ability to control his mutation. What would it be like to open his eyes and not be afraid of killing people? He vaguely remembered the feeling.

It wouldn't happen overnight, certainly. There would be a period of learning how to control it, during which the glasses would stay, but...

Curling in a ball and allowing his body to gently turn in circles, Scott closed his eyes behind the glasses, concentrating solely on the mild vertigo for a few moments. It sounded like he'd made up his mind, but how could he do that without consulting the others? Their lives and futures were at stake as well and what if they wanted to go home?

The silence was broken by a voice below him. Or was that above him?

"There you are," Trip said.

"Here I am," Scott agreed.

For a long moment, Scott floated, his mind locked in a cycle of confusion. With a practiced grace, Trip bounced off the ceiling and came to rest a few feet away, hands behind his head and a concerned expression on his face.

"So," Trip said hesitantly, "T'Pol tells me you've got a bad decision to make. Well," he paused, looking rueful, "she used a lot more words, but that was the gist of it."

"Oh, the captain didn't send a shipwide memo?" His stomach churned, thinking of everyone feeling sorry for him.

"Of course not. It's just T'Pol figured you might need somebody to talk to. She's learned a heck of a lot about humans in the past few years. And lemme tell you, when a Vulcan thinks you need to talk about your feelings, that's a pretty sure sign. So, did you want to talk about it or should I go to hell?"

Scott sighed, his mind still racing.

Trip did a lazy roll in place. "Maybe I'm not the best person, I don't know why T'Pol came to me. Should I get Logan or the Cap'n?"

"No," Scott said. "No, I don't think I'm ready to talk to either of them."

Trip came to rest against the opposite wall and slowly pushed himself back up, silent and patient.

They floated for a while, letting their own small movements push them around the space.

"So, you and the Sub-commander think you can get us home."

"Yeah, I think we might be able to do it."

"And Dr. Phlox thinks he can repair my eyes, so I can see normally and control my blasts."

Trip jerked in place, propelling himself into a wall with a thud. "Whoa! But if he starts doing surgery then--"

"Who knows what effect it will have on my ability to warp space and time."

"Man, that's..." Trip trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

"Mm-hmm."

Silence fell again as the two men contemplated the dilemma.

"A part of me," Scott said, "believes I deserve to have my vision fixed. The universe took away Jean, so it owes me something. Except that I know the universe doesn't work that way."

"No, I guess it doesn't."

"I miss her." His voice cracked on the last word.

"I can't imagine what it must be like," Trip said quietly.

"She was...she was my whole life, the reason I did this." Scott closed his eyes, Jean's smiling face behind his eyelids, a ghost of her mental touch in his mind. "I believed in Professor Xavier's dream, but Jean was there for me and that's what kept me going."

"Believed?"

Scott opened his eyes and frowned. "I did use past tense, didn't I? I guess since she died, it's been hard to stay on track."

"I know what you mean," Trip said, his voice low. Scott looked at him, seeing the other man staring at his hands. "Since the Xindi probe hit the Earth, I've had trouble focusing on anything but destroying the Xindi, obliterating them for what they did to my sister. Well, everybody wanted to do it, but..."

"It's hard not to hate when you've been hurt."

"Yeah." Trip's jaw twitched. "How've you done it?"

"By hating Stryker," Scott said, feeling the familiar rage well up. "Hating the man who was in charge. My one consolation is that Stryker died in the same flood that killed Jean." He took a gasping breath, surprised at the venom in his voice.

Trip looked surprised as well. "Uh, did you..."

"Logan. Logan found Stryker where Magneto had tied him to the dam and he left him there."

"Wow."

Whispering. "I wish it had been me."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

"Jean wouldn't want me to hate this much. I know that. She'd want me to forgive, move on, but how can I?"

Trip was silent for a moment before heaving a sigh. "I think I'm going to recommend more psychology coursework for officer candidates at the academy when we get back."

That surprised a laugh out of Scott. "Good idea."

Silence fell again as Scott turned the options over in his mind for the thousandth time. Slowly a picture formed in his mind, of the day Hank and the professor figured out how to stop his eyes from destroying everything in their path. Opening them to a disorienting wash of red that gradually turned into shapes.

Jean's face against the backdrop of trees and wood paneling; Jean's smile in the sunlight showing him around brick and stone and cement pathways; her hair that he knew was red even without red glasses, lying against an embroidered chair back.

Charles smiling, joy at his regained sight tempered by the knowledge it was a halfway victory; Hank's uproarious laughter; Warren shaking his hand so formally while Scott tried not to stare at the angelic wings he'd only felt before.

Years passed in his memory.

Every inch of the mansion was familiar to him, every resident known, every defense carefully designed. The kids--his responsibility--already mourning Jean's loss. He hadn't been much help to them.

"I can't do the surgery, can I?" The words were heavy, difficult to form.

"I can't make that decision for you."

Scott closed his eyes and felt the room spin slowly around him. "But we don't belong here. And I can't take the chance that fixing my eyes will strand us here."

"It does sound like you've got unfinished business at home."

"Jean wouldn't have wanted me to give up on the dream." He opened his eyes. "I know that as well as I know my own name."

Trip's smile was strained. "Lizzie wouldn't want to see me, see any of us, acting like we have been. But I don't know what choice we have."

"Well, at least if you keep your eyes open for some chance to make contact..."

"What do we say? 'Hi, we're not here to blow you up. Really. Scout's honor.' Yeah, that'll work."

"Of course it's not that simple, but what's your other option? Destroy their homeworld?"

"We'll destroy the weapon." Trip crossed his arms, momentum pushing him back against the wall.

"They'll build another one."

"And we'll destroy that."

"How many ships and planets and people have they got? Eventually they'll win and you know it."

Trip glared at him, then looked away.

Sighing, Scott scrubbed at his face. "Sorry."

Trip stared at a bulkhead. "They killed millions of people. They're not going to stop until every single human being is dead. How the hell can you expect us to talk to them?"

"It takes some faith, I'll admit. But sometimes just a few influential contacts can make all the difference." Scott found he wanted so desperately to convince this man that it wasn't entirely hopeless.

Trip shook his head and when he turned back, his face was set. "We've got no choice but to follow this mission to the end. Talking isn't going to help."

Scott felt a sick feeling in his stomach. "You could find a way. This crew is smart and dedicated."

There was no answer as Trip floated back against the bulkhead, bracing himself with one hand.

They floated a while longer, Scott thinking with longing of normal eyes. He was jerked out of his daydream by a sudden movement from Trip, who was focused on the bulkhead he was touching, a look of concentration on his face. "Something wrong?"

Trip put up a hand, so Scott stopped, watching the other man tilt his head and listen to something. "Huh," Trip finally said. "Just a funny sound from the engines. I think that last warp core purge must've knocked something off-kilter."

"Is that serious?"

"Nah. But I'd better go make sure my team's already on it."

Scott nodded. "Duty calls. But thank you for helping me see my decision."

"No problem. Glad I could help. I just wish, well, I wish we hadn't made you decide between these two things. For all our fancy technology, sometimes it seems like we only make things worse."

Scott nodded. "I feel the same way about mutations. Some people hate us, others envy us, and it feels like maybe we really are nothing trouble. I'm just a glorified blasting machine. Hell, the government made Logan into the perfect weapon."

"But you choose what to do with your mutations, just like we do with our tech. Sometimes we make the wrong decision, but we're only human. All of us." Trip kicked off the wall he'd been resting against. "Now I'd better get to my engines before Hess snags all the fun work."

"Thank you," Scott called.

Trip paused in the entryway, looking over his shoulder. "I'll think about what you said. Maybe both of us can find a little peace."

"I hope so."

* * *

Jon was in his ready room, glaring at the latest batch of reports when his door buzzed. Closing his eyes, he bade whoever it was enter, praying for no more reports.

He smiled, relieved, when Summers entered. "Good, I was afraid you were T'Pol with more work."

"No, but for a moment you reminded me of Professor Xavier." At Jon's wave, Summers dropped into the seat.

"Me?"

Summers chuckled. "He gets that same look on his face when I bring him more work, more problems, more bad news. Oh, he tries to hide it, but he's an astoundingly bad liar."

"I wonder if it's harder for a telepath to lie," Jon said, thinking of T'Pol and Vulcan culture. "Does it seem more unnatural?"

"Hmm." Summers frowned. "I hadn't thought of it quite that way. I know that," his jaw twitched, "Jean was considered unusually blunt and outspoken among her fellow med students. With her students, she was quieter, but she tended to avoid even white lies."

Jon watched Summers as he talked, trying to imagine what it had been like to see his fiancée die. "I still look for my father," he said.

Head lifting, Summers waited.

"On the ship," Jon went on. "It was his design, his legacy and I still expect him to come around a corner and demand to know what I'm doing to his engines." It was an old sorrow, but not painless by any means.

Summers nodded slowly. "It's hard to be in surroundings that remind you. But..."

"I had to do it. I had to be here. For me as much as for him."

"Yes." Summers turned his head toward the stars streaming by and Jon wondered what he saw. Finally, the corners of his mouth lifted. "The pep talk was wasted, though, since I'd already decided to make the attempt to go home."

"Ah." Jon grinned. "Needed to be said, though."

"I suppose so. Trip and I had a long talk. He was quite helpful."

"I suspect," Jon hesitated, "you helped him just as much. He's had a hard time bouncing back and I didn't want to push."

"I think he'll recover. Eventually."

"Will you?" Out of sight behind the desk, Jon's hand clenched into a fist. He hadn't meant to ask that.

Summers sighed and looked away. "You won't push Trip but you'll push me?"

"I've known Trip too long, I think." Jon shrugged. "I wrestled with that before I brought him onboard. But the ship's nearly as much his accomplishment as my father's."

"Well, to answer your question, yes, I think I'll recover as well. Wherever...wherever Jean is, I think she'd be unhappy if I didn't."

"It certainly seems like you have a lot of work waiting for you at home. And we'll do our best to get you there."

"Thank you, Captain."

"I'm sure that if you meet with Phlox, he'd be happy to pass on his notes. I'm not certain you'll be able to use it..."

"But my doctor will be happy to have the information." Summers rose. "I'd better go talk to the others. Let them know we're going home."

"You've a great deal of faith in my crew."

"Justified so far. It's an impressive team."

Faces ran through his mind and Jon found himself smiling. "They are damn impressive, aren't they? They do me proud every day."

Summers paused. "If anyone can accomplish your impossible mission, it will be the Enterprise. And believe me, I know something about the impossible."

For a moment, Jon couldn't swallow or breathe. "Thank you."

Even through the red glasses, Summers held his gaze. "Thank you." He left without saying anything else.

As the door swished shut behind Summers, Jon leaned back in his chair, reports temporarily forgotten. No question, he was going to miss their visitors. Besides their formidable abilities, they'd been a badly-needed breath of fresh air for the whole crew, perspective on their situation.

They'd be missed. Jon just hoped their friends back on Earth appreciated them.

* * *

It took several days for engineering and science to agree that they were ready, but finally everyone convened in engineering, where the four visitors were bundled into a small chamber festooned with wires and things.

Summers turned just in front of the door and looked at Jon. "It's "

"On both sides." Jon studied him. "Good luck in your own mission. I wish there was something we could do to help you."

"You have, Captain. Believe me, you have."

Jon hovered behind Trip, peering at the screens showing the chamber. Vaguely comprehensible readings washed over him, but he concentrated on his crew and the visitors. T'Pol was her usual unruffled self, which didn't mean much, but Trip looked pleased, which had to be a good thing.

Between one blink and the next, Summers, Logan, Kitty, and Bobby disappeared. Jon stared, and the crew around him cheered.

"Did it work?" he asked Trip.

Trip sobered, looking back at the empty chamber. "There's no way to be certain, Cap'n. But yeah, I think so. I gotta have faith in something, right?" He grinned at Jon.

"Right." Jon chuckled.

In a career that included long-lost colonies, slime monsters, and more alien prisons than he could shake a stick at...the past few weeks still qualified as monumentally strange.

Shaking his head, he left the crew to their celebration and left for the bridge, feeling more hopeful than he had in months.

* * *

The walls of engineering faded abruptly, rather like what Scott remembered of the matter transmitter. But this time he was powering the transmission.

Vision graying, Scott thought fiercely of home, of Earth, of every loved and hated feature of the place. It was there, not far, he reached his hand out, feeling his companions at his back.

Earth retreated and Scott shouted in fury, throwing every erg he could spare into the effort. They inched closer, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. There was a tiny glowing coal within himself, everything that was left of him, and Scott prepared to use it.

But he was surrounded by light (red-gold), warmth (a roaring fire on a snowy day), emotion (love), power (unimaginable)...

And then it was gone. But he knew they'd made it home. And the light...he put it aside to think about later.

Scott felt like he'd been run over by a truck, muscles trembling, vision blurry, but he felt sun on the back of his neck, the warmth seeping in like water onto parched soil. Each tendril felt healing, and it was only a moment before he stood more or less upright.

"Looks like you did it, Cyke," Logan said.

Scott blinked away the sparkles in his vision. "Glad to hear it." He cleared his throat. "Situation?"

"Everybody's gone, the kid, the Brotherhood."

His vision cleared. Kitty and Bobby were on alert, back-to-back scanning the area, while Logan prowled the periphery. It was familiar--the same deserted field where they'd arranged to meet their new student.

Logan sniffed. "They were here, though. You brought us back after all the excitement."

"How long?" Scott could see a scar in the earth where his beams had missed a target and gouged out the grass. It looked fairly fresh.

"A day. Two, maybe." Logan sniffed again. "I think two. Whatever happened, it's done now."

"Let's check in with the Professor."

"If we've been gone two days," Bobby began.

Kitty finished his sentence. "Everybody's probably pretty worried."

Scott nodded. "Let's see if the car is where we left it, and we can call in."

* * *

Kitty had underestimated. In fact, the entire school was frantic at their two-day disappearance, and the four of them were welcomed back as returning heroes. The kids threw an impromptu party in the rec room, raiding the kitchen for goodies and turning up the music. As a particularly insistent backbeat made a window shake, Scott smiled and let Jubilee hand him a soda. Normally, he'd sternly insist on quieter music, but just now they deserved...no, they needed this. Ororo hugged him and shouted something in his ear and he nodded absently.

After circulating through the crowd for a while, Scott slipped out the door, partially to save his ears, but also so he could think. He felt disconnected, wandering the halls, touching things to be certain he wasn't dreaming, looking for people who weren't there.

"Let's talk," Charles said, rolling down the hall behind him, with that look that meant he was only refraining from reading your mind by sheer force of will.

Nodding, Scott followed him to his office, the warm wood strange as he closed the door behind them. Charles watched Scott with a sympathetic smile as he leaned against the window frame, staring at the familiar landscape. Dead leaves stirred on the ground in a stray breeze and Scott tried to imagine the golds, oranges, and browns he knew were there.

"Logan gave an...abbreviated report, and I overheard Kitty's explanation to Rogue and Jubilee," Charles finally said. "It sounds amazing."

"It was." A squirrel ran up a tree with something in its mouth, disappearing into the interior of the trunk.

"You've been to outer space, Scott. What did you find?"

Scott turned, a small smile twitching at his lips and the memory of red-gold light warming his heart. "Peace. In the midst of a war, I found peace."

\--end--


End file.
